


The Healing Magic of the Eldar

by Fourticktock



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Action & Romance, Alternate Canon, Crossover Pairings, First Time, Loki Angst, Loki Needs a Hug, Loki gets involved, M/M, Manipulative Loki, Manipulative Thranduil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-03-09 00:46:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 36,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3229892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fourticktock/pseuds/Fourticktock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of The Avengers, Odin decides that Loki can not stay in Asgard. He is a prisoner, he is hunted, and he is broken. Where can Odin place him where all these things might be remedied? Perhaps an old trading partner on a realm called Arda. </p><p>Thranduil accepts a new prisoner or guest, depending on how you look at it. Can the magic of the Eldar help a Jotun?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Negotiations

**Author's Note:**

> NOTICE 28/02/2018: Story is being finished! On a trip back home I recently came across my original notes for the story, so after feeling like a was going crazy from forgetting my ideas, I can finally write more without letting myself down. Thank god I found those notes because I had really forgotten my original idea. 
> 
> The events take place before and during The Hobbit. 
> 
> "Extra notes" are for those who haven't read the books and want a bit of extra info to put more flavor into the story, and so you don't have to constantly google. If you see something that needs correcting, feel free to comment as I'm very bad at double checking my tolkien-trivia.

They were often called Men of the Uttermost East by those who already lived far east of the Misty Mountains. Thranduil preferred the name “Men of the Dawn”, given by the dwarves, for it was said they would appear on the horizon, silhouetted against the rising sun, as if the heavenly body had followed them on their road. The Elves knew, of course, that they travelled from another world entirely, not from some long forgotten realm east of the Waters of Awakening.

They came to trade. In the old days, before the fall of Beleriand, they came almost to that land’s borders. After war drove that land into the sea, and a new darkness settled into the land of Mordor, the Men of the Dawn limited themselves to trading with the dwarves of the Iron Hills, the men of Rhûn, and the Elves of the Greenwood. They wanted wine, for they had no skill in that themselves, and herbs for healing, but most of all that precious dwarven metal mithril, which they forged into weapons themselves. Sometimes they would barter for an Elven blade, for they knew good work when they saw it. It had been centuries since such a trade had been made, however. 

The Men of the Dawn weren’t men, for they aged so slowly they could be mistaken for immortal. That knowledge had long ago fallen into legend among the men of Middle-Earth. 

Thranduil had bartered with two of their kings. The latest was far less pleasant, though both lacked any sense of grace. He named himself Odin Allfather, and had presumed once to send emissaries. Thranduil would not part with a single leaf of herb, gem or blade without negotiations properly performed. 

The Men of the Dawn were brutish, standing as tall as elves and as wide as men, making them almost trollish in size. Their armour was strong, and was decorated with patterns even Thranduil could admit were beautiful. He had never seen one of their women, so he persumed they were the fairer sex with the skill of crafting beauty even for such monstrous husbands. 

Word reached King Thranduil of their arrival, with the dawn, long before they reached his borders. They would find the dwarves of the Iron Hills inhospitable hosts, for they were even more hateful of strangers since the loss of their neighbour Erebor. The men of Lake Town could offer nothing of value to them. King Thranduil was surprised when he heard they were still making their way west. He doubled his border guard and waited. 

It was said King Odin’s mount had eight legs, and one in his party could fly like a bird. Thranduil usually trusted his scouts to report only what they had seen themselves, but such news could only be taken for gossip. 

It was decided the two Kings would meet in a clearing just outside Mirkwood’s borders, to begin negotiations. Thranduil could not let a foreign force into his realms, and Odin would not leave his retinue. 

King Thranduil rode his great elk into the clearing and surveyed the Men of the Dawn. 

King Odin’s steed was directly across from him in the wide clearing, eight-legged indeed. Other than the white hair on his head, Odin looked much as he had the last time he had traded with Middle-Earth. 

His retinue was strange to Thranduil. Instead of the carts and servants who usually came to carry goods, Odin had only a dozen or so warriors with him. One of them was clearly his son, sour-faced and of equal size. An air of oppressiveness hung over the whole gathering. Behind the warriors a large horse-drawn cart stood, box-shaped and large enough to house several prisoners. It was without windows and enclosed in giant chains as though it were a wrapped present. The metal glowed faintly with magic. 

‘They look as though they are going to their execution,’ Legolas said. ‘Are they always like this?’ 

‘No, not in my experience. Something is wrong. They are not here to trade.’ Thranduil urged his elk forward and Odin did the same. His face was even more grim than Thranduil remembered. 

‘King Odin of Asgard,’ Thranduil greeted as they came level in the middle of the clearing. 

‘King Thranduil,’ came the gruff reply. Thranduil waited for him to speak of his purpose. He did so reluctantly. ‘I do not come to trade this day.’ 

‘So I guessed.’ 

‘I have come to ask you to take my son.’ Thranduil frowned over Odin’s shoulder at the blond beast staring daggers towards the elves, but that possibility was quickly dismissed in favour of the large prison box. Thranduil gave Odin a dubious stare. 

‘I am not a jailor.’ 

‘He requires healing, with Elvish magic.’ 

‘What has happened to force you to that conclusion?’ 

Odin sighed. ‘Loki has done terrible things, but I believe in my heart he can be restored to himself. The magic of your people has been known to soothe even the most troubled soul.’ 

‘If he needs rest and meditation, go south and seek the hospitality of Lothlórien.’ 

‘He does need those things, but he also requires a firm hand.’ Thranduil raised an eyebrow at this. To discipline an Elf not under one’s household or command was not well done, and Thranduil had never fostered anyone's brood, let alone one not of their kind. ‘He is not Asgardian,’ Odin confessed as though he had read Thranduil’s mind. ‘I took him home when he was a babe. He is Jotun.’ 

‘And what are Jotun?’ 

‘Monstrous creatures of ice and darkness, but Loki is not that.’ Odin sounded as though he were trying to convince himself. ‘I raised him as my son.’ 

Thranduil smiled. ‘You lied to him.’ 

‘I omitted the truth, yes. He took it badly. Something broke inside him, and then he fell from the Bifrost.’ Odin gazed to the cloudless sky, though he was looking west, not east where the Bifrost deposited them on Middle-Earth. Thranduil had no idea how any creature could survive falling out of such a state. ‘He fell through space, and perhaps somewhere beyond our universe entirely. When he next appeared, a darkness had taken hold of him.’ 

‘I am well practiced in destroying darkness, but I am not accustomed to nursing it out.’ 

‘Will you try at least? Let him stay in your peaceful realms?’ 

‘What will you give me in return?’ 

‘Whatever is within my power to give you.’ 

Thranduil considered. He could put the unwanted creature in his dungeon and tell Odin he had done his very best. The thing would be comfortable, but out of the way. 

‘How long do you wish me to try?’ 

Odin considered. ‘A year.’ 

‘I will accept him as my honoured guest, if you answer one thing truthfully.’ Odin clearly did not like this ultimatum, but he needn’t have feared. ‘Is he in danger from something other than himself?’ The King of Asgard’s face betrayed him, and Thranduil nodded. ‘I see, and what is to stop whatever hunts him from disturbing my peaceful realms?’ 

‘They will not find him here,’ Odin said. ‘I have taken steps to misdirect them.’ 

One year was hardly long for an elf, Thranduil reasoned. If Odin needed Loki out of the way, Thranduil would certainly put him far from the king’s mind. 

After clarifying a few more facts, Odin did not even blink at the asking price. It was agreed his warriors would return with half immediately, and half upon Loki’s release. Thranduil turned to his people and rode back to Legolas to explain their new guest’s situation. 

‘What if he cannot be contained?’ Legolas asked. ‘That box is designed to hold something of great power.’ 

‘A mere precaution,’ Thranduil said. ‘Odin has bound Loki’s magic. He will be as harmless as a man.’ 

‘And what if his bonds can be cut?’ 

‘Without their gate keeper Loki cannot escape Middle-Earth,’ Thranduil shrugged. ‘If he escapes, Odin can hunt him down when he arrives.’ 

Legolas was almost as sour-faced as Odin’s true born during the delivery of Loki. The cart was fixed to one of Mirkwood’s horses and the magical chains removed. Thranduil saw Odin in a heated exchange with Thor, and in the end they left without saying farewell. 

The elves travelled silently and without trouble to the Elvenking’s halls. Outside, before dismounting, Thranduil ordered his warriors to stand ready and open the box. Bows were drawn as the door opened, revealing a pitch-black interior. Thranduil heard the clinking of chains as someone shuffled towards the door. 

What appeared was not what Thranduil had expected. 

He stood as tall as Thranduil, slightly broader, dark hair and all the beauty of the Eldar in his face. It was marred by a hideous metal muzzle, which Odin had warned him not to remove until he was safely inside his halls. His hands and feet were chained together. His eyes were stony, giving nothing away. 

‘Greetings, Loki of Asgard,’ Thranduil said without much hospitality. Loki slowly turned his head up to look at Thranduil astride his elk. His eyes did not change expression. ‘You are to be my guest for the next twelve months. During this time, you will do no harm to my people, and I will do no harm to you. Do you understand?’ Loki’s eyes darted around, taking in all the swords and bows, before nodding once at Thranduil. It was not a nod of submission, merely an acknowledgement that he had understood the words. 

‘You will follow, and I will remove your bonds if the journey proves uneventful.’ Thranduil dismounted before the bridge and told his guards to escort their guest to his new quarters, and to remove his bonds only when he was secure within. 

They passed into his halls. Loki walked surrounded by six warriors. Thranduil carried on to his own rooms, while Loki was taken below. 

As he washed away the smell of the road and Asgardians, Thranduil wondered what the nature of Loki’s crimes were. He was both in exile from his family, and in danger from unknown forces. What had he done to cause anger from all sides? 

The king dressed in silver garments, with his autumn crown. The caves were colder than usual that evening, and Legolas said it was due to their guest. Not through some magic, but due to the elves’ distrust of him. There was no merriment left in the Elvenking’s halls that evening. 

Thranduil had sent word that Loki be placed in their most spacious cell, reserved for captured Lords and therefore seldom used. It was already prepared when they arrived. The “cell” consisted of a spacious living area, bedroom, bathing room and a balcony - all deep underground. The view was of the beautiful crystal caverns, and a endless drop into blackness. 

The door was really two doors, one wooden covered by a separate barred one. Both were opened by one of the three guards posted outside. Thranduil entered and found Loki standing close to the balcony doors, gazing out at the luminous crystal structures in the caves beyond. The chamber outside his cell was vast, and the black gorge below even more so. No man or elf could jump the distance, and even if he tried, he would only land on sharp crystals that would break and crumble into the abyss. It was a torment to those kept there, for it provided space and the illusion of freedom, and great beauty, but no escape. 

Loki looked out of place in the light cell, the white rock looking as though it might stain by his mere presence. His dark boots had left muddy imprints - they would have to go. Thranduil abhorred the material the Asgardians used for clothing. 

His beauty was now fully visible without the muzzle or chains. He carried himself like a prince. He was far older than Legolas, Thranduil guessed, but not near half Thranduil’s own age. 

Loki turned slightly to look at Thranduil over his shoulder when he entered, but then turned back to the caves, making a show of dismissing the king. Thranduil did not let that bother him. 

‘I will ask only one question, which I suggest you answer, for on it depends how your time in my realm is spent.’ 

Loki’s shoulders rose slightly, but Thranduil had not heard a sigh. Finally, he turned to face Thranduil fully, clasping his hands behind his back casually. His eyes were attentive, deceptively so, as he waited for the question. 

‘Do you require healing?’ 

Thranduil took delight in having surprised the creature. Loki’s brow furrowed in confusion, and his whole body stiffened. Abruptly taking a step back, he seemed to become even paler as a terrible memory washed over his face. The break in composure lasted only a second. He then straightened and swallowed down his emotions. 

‘I suffer no injury,’ he said at last. His voice was deeper than Thranduil had expected, yet far more delicate than any Asgardian voice heard before. How could any of Odin’s kind ever have suspected Loki to be of the same race? How had Loki gone so long without knowing? 

‘That was not my question,’ Thranduil said. ‘I asked if you required healing?’ 

‘It is said the Eldar heal even a broken soul,’ Loki said, a bitter smile curling his lip. He looked away, turning halfway back to look into the caves. ‘Your halls are vast and beautiful, King Thranduil. Far more so than I expected.’ 

If he thought flattery could distract Thranduil, he would be disappointed. 

‘Perhaps you need time to consider your answer,’ Thranduil said. He turned away and walked to the door, feeling Loki’s eyes on his back. ‘I will leave you for tonight and return tomorrow, and every day after, until you have given me your answer.’ He turned at the door, capturing Loki’s gaze. There was curiosity there, and annoyance. ‘In the mean time my people will provide for you as they would any guest.’ 

‘Do all your guests sleep in barred cells?’ Loki taunted. 

‘Only at the request of their masters.’ Loki’s eyes narrowed, and Thranduil saw the rage and darkness that Odin had spoken of. It ran deep and wide in Loki’s soul. ‘Think of my question,’ Thranduil urged him gently. Loki’s rage dissipated at the soothing tone, to his own clear surprise. ‘I will return tomorrow.’ 

Thranduil wondered if his tactic had been the right one. Elven magic could only heal so much without the sufferer’s consent. If Loki was to rid himself of his rage and heal whatever torture he had suffered, he would have to accept the light of the Eldar into himself. 

But Thranduil doubted he would. He was far more likely to spit the offer back in the king’s face. Time would tell. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra notes: Beleriand was the land to the north-west of Middle-earth (basically the land extended far more west than the grey havens do in the later ages). After the War of Wrath at the end of the First Age, the land fell into the sea. This war was against Morgoth, far more powerful than Sauron (who was his lieutenant in this age). It was in this land that Oropher, and son Thranduil, settled, but they moved east after its fall and ended up in Mirkwood.


	2. The Guest

Thranduil slept fitfully, and drew his blankets tightly over himself in his sleep. He awoke shivering, which was strange as his fire had already been lit several hours ago by silent servants. 

He sat up in bed, and the cold seemed to slip away like a creature retreating to the shadows. Frowning, Thranduil found he had no appetite. He threw on a thicker red morning coat and put on his slippers. 

He did not bother with crown or to have his hair braided. He walked straight down to his dungeons to visit his guest. 

Loki was lying on the divan to the right of the balcony doors, which were still open. He was staring up at the ceiling, feet crossed and hanging off the edge. On the table next to him a platter of fruits was untouched. The bed, which Thranduil could glimpse through the wide archway to the left, was unused. Why, Thranduil had no idea. The room was cold, and the fire was unlit. He turned sharply to the guard who had followed him, raising an eyebrow. The guard shook his head, indicating Loki had declined the fire. 

Thranduil approached Loki slowly, coming to stand at the foot of the divan. From this angle Loki looked like one dead and frozen in time. 

‘Good morning,’ Thranduil said, not expecting an answer. ‘Have you thought of an answer?’ 

Loki looked at Thranduil, and blinked. He studied the king, his gaze going from top to bottom and back up slowly, making Thranduil regret not taking the time to dress properly. Eventually, Loki looked back up to the ceiling. 

‘I require nothing of you but my freedom.’ 

Thranduil decided to take his time to study Loki right back. He was a very desirable specimen. As Thranduil focused, however, he began to see through the disguise. Magic enfolded Loki, in layer upon layer, and Thranduil could only glimpse through a part of it with his elven eyes alone. 

Under the illusion, he could see how Loki’s clothes were worn, burnt in some places, torn and splattered with blood and dirt. His face was drawn, dark circles under his eyes. His hair was dirty too, and longer than it appeared. What had he been through? 

Loki glanced at him, probably wondering if the king had lost his mind or gone mute. He furrowed his brows when he saw how intensely Thranduil was gazing at him. Thranduil waved his hand dismissively towards the door and the guard bowed quick and left. Loki sat up slowly, careful of his movements, his gaze turning angry. 

‘Shall we dispense with tricks?’ Thranduil inquired mildly. Although the anger did not leave his eyes, Loki smirked. 

‘On some realms I am known as the God of Tricks.’ 

‘You look more like a vagabond than a god.’ There was vanity there, Thranduil concluded, as Loki ground his teeth at the insult. ‘You need to bathe and eat. If you intend to survive any form of freedom, I suggest you stop wasting energy on illusions and obstinance, and instead focus on regaining your strength.’ 

Loki absorbed this information with a clenched jaw, and Thranduil wondered if he would explode in a rage or see reason. 

He was answered when Loki’s illusion drained away, though his skin was still thick with magic not even Thranduil could see through. Loki picked a berry from the plate and popped it in his mouth. ‘Good,’ he murmured. 

‘Does this mean you will answer my question?’ 

Lose rose swiftly. ‘It means you can tell your servants to fill the bath.’ He disappeared into the bathing room without a backward glance. Thranduil allowed himself a sigh and left, ordering the servants to tend to Loki and not to look him in the eyes. He dared not risk some trick of seduction. 

XXX 

All the fires in Thranduil’s halls were lit, and while it was autumn the sun still warmed the forest. So, why did this cursed cold not leave? Thranduil kept to his rooms all day, not wanting to sit in the throne hall and shiver. His servants brought all matters to him, but he could see in their eyes the matter they would not speak of: winter had come with their guest, and it was an evil thing. 

It was Legolas who first dared speak of it. He had given his rapport on the spread of the spiders. No matter how many times their lairs were emptied, a few moons later found the darkness returned. After recounting the numbers, Legolas hesitated at the threshold. 

‘Spit it out,’ Thranduil said, knowing his son’s worries were not unfounded. Legolas came back inside to stand between Thranduil, half-reclined on his divan, and the roaring fire. 

‘We can not abide this cold for long,’ Legolas declared. ‘That creature is the cause. You should recall King Odin.’ 

‘And reimburse him?’ 

Legolas frowned at the mention of the gold, silver and jewels about to fill the coffers. With the gold of Erebor so long held in captivity, such wealth was a dear thing to them, far more than Thranduil would ever admit. Legolas understood. Times were dark and the allure of treasure sparkled even in his eyes. 

‘Gold will not keep us warm.’ 

‘Our people have weathered worse winters. Besides, I intend to break him. He will not make us suffer for long.’ Thranduil dismissed Legolas without further discussion. 

XXX

Loki soaked in the bath for hours. It was scalding hot, and he was slightly uncomfortable, but he endured it. Opposite him on the wall was painted a beautiful tumultuous sea and dark shores. A single elf stood gazing into the storm, but he did not look fearful or longing. Loki saw the expression as arrogant, as all the elves of Middle-Earth were. Out of all the possible prisons the Allfather could have sent him to, this had not even been on the list. 

But, now that he was here, things were at least comfortable. All he had to do was wait until he was strong enough, break the magical bonds Odin had placed on him, and escape. 

He would not be waiting here for the Chitauri to find him. 

He flinched suddenly, eyes snapping down to the water. It had gone cold, but more than that, it was starting to _freeze_. Loki eyes grew wide in shock as a layer of ice spread out from his skin to the edges of the stone-carved pool. The ice pinched his skin. 

Loki stood, bursting through the ice and leaping out of the pool. He backed away from it. The water did not freeze further, and after a long moment Loki let out a breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding. 

His time with the Chitauri had taught him many things, mostly about how much pain he could endure, but they had not explored his Jotun nature. They had found that the least interesting part of him, primitive and useless to them. 

Loki had certainly not explored it himself. He still had the Casket of Winters, safely tucked away. Not even Odin had found it, not when it had been returned to a Jotun with Loki’s magic. But he had not made use of it, not even once. Not even when it might have helped him on Midgard. 

This was not the work of the casket, however. Ever since Odin had bound Loki’s magic, it was as if he felt the cold more than before, as though his Jotun-self finally had free reign. A dark thought might provoke it, or a nightmare. Once he had awakened in his cell half-encased in ice. 

When the temperature in the room did not sink further, Loki felt himself shiver, more out of feeling his nakedness than the cold. He grabbed the dressing robe the elves had laid out. It was forest green, with silver embroidery. Very fine and warmer than it looked. He hugged it around himself and cursed the elves for their hospitality. They had taken his clothes to be washed. 

He left the bath and paced around the sitting room instead, grumbling about his state of undress. He had only just decided not to waste energy on the few illusions he could manage - a decision _not_ made due to King Thranduil’s nagging. He abruptly went to the balcony and shut the doors. The sight of the crystal caves unsettled him suddenly and he yanked the flimsy drapes closed. He would eat, then sleep. His inevitable escape would be his only thought. 

XXX

It was not to be born, Thranduil concluded. The cold was not on the wind, or in the rock, it was in all of their bones. The so-called Allfather’s power had clearly not put a proper lid on his adopted son. After over a day and a half, Mirkwood’s hospitality had been frozen. 

King Thranduil dressed in a thick red cloak and let his hair flow free to warm his face better. He descended into the dungeon, feeling the cold creep up his legs as though he were stepping into a pool of ice-cold water. 

When he reached the door to Loki’s cell he stopped short. There was a fine layer of frost covering the door. The two guards were standing on either side, as far away as possible without seeming as though they were abandoning their post. 

‘Open it,’ Thranduil ordered and they hastened to obey, their fingers working quick to spare them from touching too long. 

Inside, the frost continued, creeping like vines across the floor, over the carpet and under the doors to the bedroom. Thranduil pushed them open and saw his breath on the air. Loki was lying in the middle of the bed, curled in like a child hiding. He was asleep, and shivering. 

‘Wake up, winter-demon,’ Thranduil barked. Loki was awake at once, but he did not spring up in a defensive stance as Thranduil had expected. Instead, he curled out slowly, eyes piercing Thranduil like they were waiting for a blow. ‘We will have no more of this _Jotun-ness_. The autumn moon is barely in the sky, so I would prefer winter wait a while yet.’ 

Loki cast his eyes about the room, and Thranduil realised the cold was unintentional. ‘Get up,’ he said, trying to calm himself. ‘Come to the fire.’ He called out to his guards to light it and looked back to Loki, offering a hand to help him. Loki looked at it dubiously, but then he reached out and took it, pulling himself off the bed. He smirked then, and Thranduil felt his hand grow so cold he was sure it would break off as a chunk of ice. The effect was so sudden he had not the time even to draw breath to scream out in pain. 

Thranduil could hear the guards coming into the room with kindling. He realised his eyes had fallen shut from the pain, and forced them open. His arm was encased in ice! He followed it to his hand, which Loki still held as though they were merely greeting each other. But the Jotun’s hand was no longer pale as marble, but blue, a sickly Orkish colour. Thranduil looked up into Loki’s face and saw red eyes staring back. He was just as an Orc- no, far worse, for his shape was still that of the beautiful creature he had been. 

Horror roused him from his pain, and he summoned the light of the Eldar within him. His magic burned hot in his chest and seemed to rumble through his extremities, taking Loki quite off guard. The ice encasing his arm broke apart and Thranduil ripped his hand free. Loki stared, stunned, as Thranduil examined himself. There was no lasting injury. 

Clearly, this Jotun had never contended with the magic of the Eldar. Thranduil, eyes ablaze with fury, was about to call his guards, but something in Loki’s eyes stopped him. 

It was only for a second. Although the red eyes were hard to read - could such Orcish eyes hold any emotion? - he still saw something resembling horror in them. But horror at what? Despair, too, Thranduil saw, but it was all gone in the blink of an eye. His hesitation had been his undoing. 

Loki punched him. Thranduil’s vision went black, and he felt his head hit the rock wall. Through the pain he could hear his guards shouting, and more hitting. He forced himself to stand, staggering to the door then leaning against the frame. Loki was standing over the two guards, unconscious, their skin so cold it was turning blue. He had taken one of their swords, and was staring down at them as if he didn’t know what had knocked them out. 

‘Get out,’ Thranduil growled. Loki’s eyes snapped up to his. ‘Get out, you wretched creature!’ 

Loki sneered suddenly. ‘You are far weaker than the elves of Alfheim.’ 

‘I offered you healing and peace,’ Thranduil hissed. He could hear other guards hurrying down the stairs. Loki had not been as silent as he had hoped, but that did not matter. ‘But you will sully my house no longer. Out! I banish you from my halls.’ 

Loki actually looked surprised, raising one eyebrow. Guards appeared at the door, swords and bows drawn. Thranduil waved at them impatiently. His head was still pounding. ‘Escort him out, into the forest. A day’s travel west at least, leave him far from the road.’ He pushed himself upright. Loki dropped the sword. ‘That’s the place for you, Prince Loki,’ Thranduil mocked. ‘The darkness of Mirkwood will hide even such a horror as you.’ 

He saw that his words stung, but instead of feeling triumphant, he felt quite the opposite. Loki was turning pale again, and when he returned to himself he looked diminished. His face was a mask as the guards surrounded him. 

‘Wait, give him his clothes back before he goes,’ Thranduil ordered. He walked out of the room, and felt Loki’s eyes on him. They were judging, but why, Thranduil had no idea. He wanted his freedom, and now he would be given it. Thranduil washed his hands of the matter.


	3. Mirkwood

Loki felt the elves’ judgement, and in any other situation he would have found their glares and pouts amusing. As the canopy grew thicker and the shadows closed in, Loki was beginning to think banishment to the forest wasn’t as fortuitous as he had thought. 

The further away from the Elvenking’s halls, the thicker the miasma of magic and darkness became. Loki was both intrigued and fearful. The place was unlike anywhere he had set foot before. 

Still, as long as he kept his wits about him, he should be fine. 

They walked a day and a half into the forest, and far off the path, though the elves seemed to follow some unseen road. They were almost immune to the dark magic, their light pushing the shadows away. Legolas led the party, and he was the one to take them even further than the king had ordered. Finally, they stopped between the roots of a great tree. 

‘Uncuff him,’ the Prince ordered. Five drew their bows, while one unlocked his chains. Loki rubbed at his wrists as he looked about. Legolas sneered at him. ‘Good luck, Asgardian. I shall be gracious and wish you a quick death.’ 

‘The hospitality of elves is truly boundless.’ 

The elves ignored his last barb as they retreated. Legolas remained behind. ‘Follow us and die quicker,’ he said. ‘May your gods bring you the peace our kind could not.’ 

Loki almost shouted back that he was the god here, but that was childish petulance, and he bit his tongue as Legolas disappeared swiftly into the forest, his steps soundless. 

Loki stood completely still, not even breathing, listening. The air was as still as well, but it was like a waiting predator. Almost no light reached him through the thick canopy. He closed his eyes and listened. Slowly, sounds came to him from small creatures creeping here and there. There were birds high above the trees. That was it - the forest was otherwise still as the grave. 

Loki knew he had to get out. There had to be a reason the elves thought he was as good as dead in here. He looked up at the huge tree he had been left next to, circling it and finding a good place to start. As he climbed he felt a sudden surge of exhilaration. It was so unexpected he nearly lost his grip. He hadn’t climbed a tree since he was a small boy. 

When he stuck his head up through the canopy he gasped in the fresh air, and it was only then he realised how depressing the air below was. He looked east, from where he was certain they had come, and north. It had been difficult, but he was almost certain they had constantly travelled slightly south-west. He turned his gaze that way and saw an elevation too far away for a mortal man to discern. It was a man-built structure, likely a fort of some kind. The place lay in shadow even though the sky was cloudless. 

He would go towards it, since it would be easier to check the distance and direction travelled whenever he climbed for a view. 

Back down on the ground, he hesitated. Should he try to fashion some sort of weapon? No, disturbing the forest would make a greater threat that any weapon could protect against. 

He walked as swiftly as he dared, until even he had trouble seeing. He dared not light a fire, and sat with his back to a massive trunk, listening through the night. No sound threatened, and that was no comfort. 

The next day he climbed another tree, relishing the experience, and saw that he had gone far off course, almost entirely westward. The sight depressed him, but he simply tried to correct his mistake. He continued on in the same manner, until he came to a stream. 

Loki felt its effects long before he drew near. The water sang with magic, every trickle like a lullabye. He crouched by its bank, noting tiny fishes hovering in the slow stream, as though they had fallen asleep. 

He suspected that to cross the stream was to invite misfortune, but following it was not an option. He dared not linger near it too long. His fingers stretched out and were a hair’s width away before he regained his wits, drawing back. Tricky, he thought.

From nowhere the image of Thranduil’s face came to him, as his arm had been encased in ice. The idea did not sit well with him. He hadn’t meant to freeze the King’s arm, any more than he had meant to cover the bed with frost, or freeze the bath- 

But would it help cover the water’s magic? 

Although Loki’s mind was a confusing maze of conflicting thoughts, in the end he reasoned thusly: the time had come to embrace his curse, to admit his monstrous nature in every way. Why should he hesitate to use that which he was already condemned for, after all? Thranduil had banished Loki from his kingdom for his darkness, so why did Loki still cower at the thought of summoning his Jotun power? 

It was cowardice, he told himself, and it would get him killed. 

He reached out again, boldly dipping his fingers in the water. Ice spread from them at once, growing outwards at a quickening pace. It was strangely beautiful. By the time the ice had reached the opposite bank, Loki’s hand was blue. 

He broke his fingers free and held them up, watching as the ice melted and his paleness returned. He wasn’t sure how long well he could control the Jotun colour. He would need to experiment, later, when he was free of this place. 

He rose and stepped onto the ice, and as he walked easily across it he felt himself grin despite his dark thoughts. Under the clear ice he could still see the fishes hovering undisturbed. He touched the ice again when he had crossed the stream. A few seconds later the water was meandering freely, and Loki went on his way. 

XXX

Thranduil had not left his halls prepared for battle in a man's age. He had no reason to, especially with Erebor lost to the dragon. But now he rode forth to retrieve one who he himself had banished. In all likelihood, many of his subjects thought him strange. He was not an elf prone to truthful dreams, but the night before he had been gifted with a vision he could not ignore. 

He had seen Loki steal his family’s precious jewels from right under the nose of the King Under the Mountain. How the King could return, or why Loki should wish to steal the jewels, Thranduil could not guess. The dream had been so vivid, so certain in its prediction, that Thranduil had ordered Legolas’ party to turn around at the gate. Though he had left Legolas behind to guard his kingdom in his stead. 

Thranduil walked in the middle of his party. He wore light armour, made of leather apart from his greaves and shoulder-guard. He would not admit it to anyone, but he had missed such walks in the forest. 

The guards led him to where they had left Loki, further than he had ordered. Luckily, Loki’s path was easily followed. His foreign scent lingered long. 

XXX

Loki awoke to the first sounds of large life he had heard in the forest. His heart quickened, his eyes snapping open, straining to see in the shadows - dawn had to be hours away. He held his breath, straining to hear. What lurked in the shadows that the elves thought would be enough to end him? 

Scuttling feet sent his heartbeat quickening further. Too many feet to count. They were moving closer. There were other noises Loki couldn’t at first identify. Strange half-gurgling, half-hissing sounds that Loki soon realised had to be some sort of speech. What on earth could these creatures be? They were high in the trees, he realised, as the noises started passing overhead. 

True terror only struck him when the feet stopped dead, the hissing increasing. He willed himself calm, irrationally certain whatever the creatures were they had ears enough to hear his heartbeat. 

He forced himself to look up and behold the horrible things. Huge spiders, with the gift of speech. The very idea felt blasphemous. 

Had they heard him, or would they move on? He doubted very much he could outrun them, and he had no blade. 

As his eyes fully adjusted to the dim light, he saw one particularly big and hairy spider directly above him. It was looking down, its many eyes entirely devoted to his person. 

Loki ran. He vaulted off a root and rolled down a sharp drop, only just managing to not roll straight into a tree. He broke off a branch, managing to make a sharp point. His ears were full of the scuttling of feet, the hissing and gurgling turning into excited slurps. He continued to run in the direction he had come - back to the lighter parts of the forest - but soon the spiders had overtaken him. He stopped short when he heard them descending from the trees in front of him. There were at least six of them. He cursed Odin for binding his magic with renewed hatred. 

As he stood his ground, he realised he was standing in a puddle. The thought struck like a clear bell in his mind. This time his Jotun ice came to him almost as easily as his magic once had. His skin turned blue, the puddle froze solid and the damp forest all around crystallized. The spiders’ feet froze to the trees, and their hisses turned angry with pain. 

Loki thought he had bested them. He felt a moment of elation. How had he not thought to take advantage of this power sooner? But then they broke their legs free and continued downwards. 

Loki threw away his meager stick and held up his hands, hoping somehow to master the Jotun ice-spear by sheer will alone. The first spider to reach him slowed down suddenly, studying Loki with caution. The others surrounded them, some in the trees, others blocking possible paths. 

The spider’s eyes darted all over him, studying his hands especially. It clacked its fangs, slurping as it spoke. Loki wasn’t sure he had the strength or speed to defeat them all, and his confidence failed him. 

XXX 

It was midday, though only their own reckoning told them so, when they came upon the scene. Six spiders, frozen all, scattered over a wide area. Some were stuck to trees, others curled in upon themselves on the ground. 

Away from the general gathering of death, one lone spider was free of frost, dead by a large stick down through its head. 

‘How was this done?’ one of the guards asked. None of in the company wished to touched the things, but Thranduil was compelled to do so. He knelt and touched two fingers to one frozen leg. His fingers came away wet, and there was water dripping. Some time had passed since Loki had killed them. The ice itself felt normal, without magic or malice within. It was as though a northerly chill had caught them out suddenly. In fact, the place felt more devoid of evil if anything, with so many spiders dead. 

‘We must move quickly,’ Thranduil ordered. They might yet catch him. 

‘Your Majesty, there is blood here. We might easily follow it.’ 

XXX

Loki sat high on a good branch. He knew he should try to climb higher to get a fresh breeze, but he needed a rest. The spider’s venom was prickling him all over. He remembered long ago, another life-time, reading something about Jotuns being less susceptible to poisons and venom, as well as sickness, but it was impossible for his mind to apply it to himself. 

He heard trudging down below, metal slapping against flesh, grunts of annoyance and smelled the stink of sweat. What new obstacle would the forest produce now? 

The speech was guttural, but then another complained in the common tongue of Middle-Earth. 

‘Oy, stop grumbling. I don’t want no gossip.’ 

‘I was only asking how much further!’ 

‘We walk until we find food.’ 

Loki leaned sideways so he could see down below. A row of Orcs blundered their way through. Loki guessed they were from different tribes by their sizes and colours. They jostled each other and made an awful lot of noise. He had heard a lot about the Orcs of Arda. He wondered what was true and what was myth. 

All of them carried swords, Loki noted with interest. 

Summoning his strength, he slipped down, keeping out of sight, until he sat on a branch just above their heads. None of them were aware enough to look up. They seemed confused - perhaps they had strayed too far from their camp and had gotten caught up in the forest’s magic. Loki waited patiently for the row to pass below - a dozen altogether. When the last one came along, slow and short, bent like an old man, his skin full of cuts stapled shut with metal, Loki sprang. 

He crushed the skull underfoot in time with the trudging of the heavier Orcs. The blade was long and sharp, though a bit short for Loki. It felt good to have it in his hand. 

The next Orc grunted, and when he got no answer he turned, receiving the blade straight through his neck almost to the hilt. Loki ripped the blade free and severed the head with a swift blow. He caught the body and lay it down, the head making little noise as it rolled away into the forest. 

This Orc had an even better blade, so Loki exchanged it. He worked his way up the row, his blade improving with every exchange, coming halfway before the others noticed. Although Loki was quicker by the Orcs by several degrees, he was still weakened by the venom, and he was panting and wheezing badly far too soon. He had made a nice row of dead Orcs behind him, and had their black blood smeared on his face and hands. 

‘You’re not an elf!’ the last Orc growled, offended. He was huge, skin grey-black like ink, with a face like a dog with its many folds of skin. His sword was broader and longer than Loki’s, and he had spikes on his armour, making him a formidable pincushion. ‘What are you?’ 

‘I am Jotun.’ Loki summoned up his cold with great effort. The shock in the Orc’s eyes told him he had succeeded. He took a deep breath as the Orc raised his sword with a bellow of rage. It was cut short by an arrow through the eye. He fell dead. Loki staggered as he allowed himself to relax, but his kept his sword raised. His blood was pulsing in his ears, so he couldn’t hear his new opponent. 

King Thranduil stepped from the forest, and Loki was so surprised he lowered his sword. 

‘Prince Loki,’ Thranduil greeted, surveying the scene. ‘Thank you for taking care of the trespassers.’ 

‘I needed a blade.’ 

‘Indeed, although that Orkish blade is far too crude for someone of your skill.’ 

‘It’s sharp enough for killing.’ 

‘Are you feeling all right? You look pale.’ 

Loki glanced at his hand, but it was still blue. That was odd, he thought. He didn’t _feel_ blue. His head was foggy, and he knew the venom was getting the upper hand. 

‘You must come back.’ Thranduil was by his side, taking his arm, lowering his sword further. It slipped from his fingers. ‘You are unwell.’ 

‘Don’t touch me,’ Loki said, but there was no force behind his words. 

‘You must forgive my hasty banishment,’ Thranduil whispered in his ear. Loki was barely keeping upright. ‘It was cruel and childish.’ 

‘Then lead me out and let me go.’ 

‘I’m afraid I can’t do that. You need healing.’ 

As Loki lost consciousness, he muttered the word ‘yes.’


	4. A Few Conversations

Loki was on fire. Every nerve was red-hot. A cool cloth to his forehead made him gasp with relief. 

‘The venom has reacted badly to your blood.’ Thranduil’s low voice soothed him. ‘But you need not fear for your life. It will only pain you, not kill you.’ 

‘Forgive me if I do not trust the healing of the Eldar to save me,’ Loki choked on the end of his quip, grinding his teeth. Thranduil reapplied the cold cloth. ‘Why are you my nursemaid?’ 

‘I thought it prudent to make sure you survived. I did get an obscene amount to keep you.’ 

‘None of your healers would touch me, I bet.’ Thranduil did not correct him, just kept applying the cold cloth. ‘Why did you come to fetch me?’ 

‘Because I regretted banishing you. I let my temper get the best of me.’ 

‘Lie.’ Loki might not have the energy to argue, but he could still hear Thranduil’s too-casual tone, the way his hand on Loki’s forehead twitched ever-so-slightly. The King was a skilled liar, but his defenses were down, probably because he underestimated Loki. 

‘Perhaps it was a lie when I decided to go, but I swear it’s true now.’ Surprisingly, Loki found no lie in that. ‘Go back to sleep, Prince Loki.’ The heat was dying down, and he thought he might be able to. 

Thranduil sat by his bedside for a long time after, studying the blue skin. The room was so cold his breath was visible. But there was no frost. Loki’s skin was far from as cold as Thranduil knew it should be. Thankfully, he was cooling, slowly. 

He left several hours later when Loki’s skin finally faded back into his normal pale colour. 

XXX 

‘Why did you go after him?’ 

When he got no immediate answer, Legolas came to stand in front of Thranduil, blocking the beautiful view of the waterfall. It fell from a high cliff, down under ground through a gap in the rock and emptied out in a beautiful pool. The moonlight also streamed down in a column of light. Legolas’ frown forced Thranduil’s mind away from its meditative state. 

‘I was hasty in my banishment. Prince Loki is worth a lot of gold.’ 

‘He is a danger to us all,’ Legolas argued. When Thranduil ignored him, Legolas changed tactics. ‘Why do you nurse him like an infant? The healers said he would live. Why sit by his side?’ 

‘I will spend my time how I wish,’ Thranduil said, his temper flaring. But it only made Legolas more curious. Thranduil sighed. ‘I had a vision. Loki’s fate may be intertwined with the white jewels.’ 

Legolas’ eyes widened. ‘How?’ 

‘It is not clear, but I will not have him wandering the wilds to cause mischief, nor dying under my roof.’ Thranduil turned to leave, intending to check on Loki. He spoke as he walked from the cavern. ‘From now on you will consider Prince Loki our guest, and you will not concern yourself with him. Until his destiny is revealed to me, I shall be keeping him close.’ 

XXX 

When next Loki awoke he was not in the bed in his cell. Although he could not recall if he had been there before. As his eyes adjusted all he saw at first was green, then foliage, and for a moment he thought Thranduil had left him in the forest after all. 

But the trees were not near thick enough, and the magicks in the air were warm and soothing. There were flowers in every shade around him and winding up the trees. Between the trees he saw bare rock. He was still in the Elvenking’s Halls, but high above was a circular opening to the night sky. He was lying on a bed of leaves and flowers. The room was lit by candles in small holes in the rock, making it seem as though the starlit sky descended from the opening to encompass the whole room. 

It was like a dream. A nice dream, something Loki had almost forgotten what was like. He could not help but feel calm, and he knew he should resent that for some reason, but he couldn’t remember. 

He sat up slowly and winced as something hurt in his side. He realised he was only wearing his trousers, even his feet were bare, and there was a bandage around his midriff. He remembered the spider’s sting getting him in the side. He should probably be grateful he was alive, and that Thranduil had healed him. Loki had frozen him and his guards after all, and attempted escape. 

‘How do you feel?’ 

Loki startled so much he had to wince again. Thranduil was kneeling by his side the next instant. ‘Lie back.’ Loki was too tired to protest as Thranduil gently pushed him back, lowering him with ease. 

‘I thought you needed my cooperation to begin the healing process?’ 

‘I made the assumption you would want the large hole in your side healed.’ Thranduil’s voice was full of amusement as he checked the bandage. With his white robes, he looked a bit like the healers on Asgard. Only his free flowing hair decorated with some sort of precious gems, sparkling along with the stars, betrayed his true status. ‘As for your mind and soul, I believe only time and self-reflection can begin to bind those wounds.’ 

Too late for that, Loki thought. He had made his choice. He looked away from Thranduil, staring up at the stars. 

‘What can you tell me about your command of the cold?’ 

Loki’s eyes snapped back to Thranduil, but he was calm, not suspicious as Loki had expected. ‘I’m in no position to escape again,’ Loki snapped. ‘You need not worry.’ 

‘I was simply curious. The way you froze the spiders was not the same as how you froze my arm.’ 

‘What do you mean?’ 

‘They were frozen solid, but my arm was merely encased.’ Loki had not realised there was, or could be, such a clear difference. ‘How could you not know this?’ 

‘I have had very little curiosity about my Jotun nature.’ Loki grimaced at his old ignorance. 

‘Because they are considered monsters on your world?’ 

‘Because they _are_ monsters.’ Thranduil smiled softly. ‘Why is that amusing?’ 

‘I find my opinion on your Jotun self has changed considerably in quite a short time.’ Before Loki could question him further, Thranduil rose. ‘Please, try to rest a little more. There will be time for conversations later.’ 

Loki tried to keep his agitation alive, focusing on his irritation with Thranduil’s cryptic words. Why had the king’s opinion changed? Why had he gone to so much trouble to bring him back? There was more than the promise of gold behind the King’s actions. Unfortunately, the soft bed and night sky made it impossible to not be soothed, and Loki soon drifted back to sleep. 

XXX 

His next awakening came with a silent scream. A nightmare this time, one he was intimately familiar with. 

He was on a bed, but it was not the same cell as before. The room was far more lavish in decoration. The bedposts, for example, were carved like trees, their branches stretching up and across the ceiling, turning into a spiral, at the center of which a candle-lit chandelier hung. It was made of natural crystals. Across the wide room there three steps, looking naturally shaped in the rock, at the top of which stood a giant bath carved out of a single crystal. Loki looked to his left and found open double doors to a large sitting room. 

Beyond the doors, Thranduil was sitting on one of the divans, reading a book, as though it was any regular morning. Loki sat up, and was about to get out of bed, but he realised he was naked under the silken sheets. Just then Thranduil looked up, catching Loki’s eye. 

Loki pulled the covers closer, unfamiliar with being in such a state with someone other than a lover, let alone foreign royalty. He felt distinctly unarmed. 

‘How are you feeling today?’ Thranduil asked as he rose and came into the bedroom. 

‘Where are my clothes?’ 

‘Being mended. There was a hole to patch, after all.’ Thranduil kept approaching to Loki’s unease, sitting down on the bed. ‘Are Asgardians naturally shy?’ 

‘No,’ Loki said forcefully before he could stop himself. 

‘If it gives you any comfort, I alone saw to your undressing.’ A blush of all things threatened to colour Loki’s chest and neck. ‘Your blue form has some interesting markings. What are they for?’ 

‘You touched me while I was Jotun?’ 

‘I had to, to get at the wound. Your markings are fascinating. I was surprised they go all the way-’ Thranduil leaned forward as though he was about to pull the covers. Loki jerked back, yanking the covers out of reach. Thranduil raised an eyebrow at him. ‘What do they signify?’ 

‘I have no idea. Why am I in your bed?’ 

Thranduil, thankfully, leaned back again with a sigh. ‘You guessed the reason. My healers are reluctant to come near you. Your attempted escape is creating a stir, and the cold you created upon your arrival made many uneasy. It reached from my lowest dungeon to my highest watchtower.’

‘I… I did not mean to,' the words slipped out. His powers grew more curious every moment. Loki had no idea his powers could extend that far, and unconsciously. Was it this place that made them so? 

‘It seems you have little control over your powers. If you intend to learn to command them, please inform me and we might go outside to practice.’ 

Loki was so lost in his thoughts he barely heard Thranduil’s offer. When it registered he narrowed his eyes. ‘Why are you helping me?’ 

‘You are my guest.’ 

‘And if I attempt to leave again?’ 

‘I would rather you did not.’ 

‘Then call me by my proper name, a prisoner,’ Loki hissed. 

‘Why would you wish to leave? The wilds are dangerous. Your powers are uncertain, and you can not leave Middle-Earth without your gate-keeper’s permission.’ Thranduil shrugged. ‘I urge you to try and relax here with me, and discover the exact limits of your powers.’ 

‘With you? Here?’ 

‘You may have your own rooms, if you wish.’ Thranduil smirked. 

‘And if I reach out now and freeze you solid, what then?’ 

‘I would love to see that shade of blue again. Can you change on command, or does it only happen while you are agitated?’ Loki ground his teeth to keep from letting his temper flare. 

‘Why are you so interested?’ 

‘What was your nightmare about?’ 

The question threw Loki, and that made him angry. He wished he could jump from the bed and storm out, but obviously Thranduil had undressed him in anticipation of that. 

‘Your pathetic attempts to examine me will cease, or I swear I will-’

‘It _is_ agitation.’ Thranduil reached out to touch Loki’s face and he jerked back, looking to his hand to confirm. No, that wasn’t suppose to happen. Thranduil cupped his face, and nothing happened. It was as if he were touching normal skin. Too shocked to speak or move, he simply stared at Thranduil, who looked like he was studying something wondrous. 

‘I am deeply sorry I ever compared you to an Orc.’ Thranduil’s fingers traced the lines on Loki’s face. 

‘Don’t touch me.’ 

Thranduil blinked, then withdrew. ‘Forgive me.’ He rose abruptly and walked to the doors, hesitating on the threshold. Although Loki was frustratingly unable to gauge the King’s mindset, he decided to press the advantage anyway. 

‘Why am I here? Your people are afraid of me, and now you appear weak by withdrawing the banishment, not to mention nursing me like a cherished thing. What do you hope to gain?’ 

Thranduil glanced over his shoulder, eyes lingering too long on Loki’s bare skin. He met Loki’s gaze with a surprised look. 

‘I believe my reasons for keeping you are increasing by leaps and bounds every moment.’ 

He left, closing the doors, but not locking them. Loki wondered if he should wrap the blasted sheets around him and escape, but he settled for lying back and glaring at the ceiling.


	5. The Patience of Elves

Loki waited in bed until he heard Thranduil leave, the door locking behind him. He got up at once and searched the nearby closet, finding a long turquoise robe that would at least cover his dignity. The colour shimmered at the slightest movement, and there seemed to be flowers embroidered so faintly Loki only noticed them upon very close inspection. 

His robe trailed him as he emerged into the sitting room. 

It was a large room, oval in shape. Along several stretches of rock wall were painted magnificent scenes from the elves’ history, all with dark, starlit skies. There was a step down to a round sitting area with two divans and several loveseats. Beyond these was a smallish circular dining table and chairs, made of intricately curled wood. To the right of this were wide open double doors, with the same sort of indoor balcony as in Loki’s cell. The crystal caves beyond were breathtaking. Another set of doors to Loki’s left led to a library, with a writing desk. 

The place needed no great amounts of gold to make it kingly - every inch of the place was carved by expert craftsmen. Even the stone frames of the wall-paintings were carved directly into the rock with such tiny details Loki was sure they told a story themselves. To soften the otherwise hard room, silken fabrics hung round doorways and across the tables. 

Loki wished he had his magic so he could translate some of the correspondence he spied on the desk, but he forced himself to seat himself on a loveseat and eat from the fruit plate on the table. 

His wound was almost healed already, and would leave only a tiny scar - a testament to the Eldar’s magic. The hope nagged at him that they might heal him of other, more insidious wounds, but he dared not let it blossom. A Jotun could not be cured of its nature. 

It had not been the best tactic to annoy the elves to the point of banishment, but he had no intention of sitting idly by for a year eating fruit. How to make his next, more permanent, escape?

He was surprised by the door opening. He had not thought Thranduil would return until late. He was even more surprised by the red-headed elf that snuck inside. She looked rather guilty, and when she spotted him her eyes went wide. 

‘Oh, you’ve awakened.’ She held up her hands in offering. ‘I brought a balm for your wound. It helps with the itching.’ Her outfit denoted a warrior or hunter at least, so she was not one of the healers who refused to see him. 

When Loki made no answer she came closer and set the jar down on the table. 

‘You’re a brave one to come see the monster,’ Loki eventually drawled. She smiled then, as if the tension had lifted. Loki hadn’t decided what use she could be. 

‘I admit I was curious, but the others are being a bit silly to be honest. It’s not like you killed anyone.’ 

‘Not here, at least.’ 

‘Of course, that’s what I assumed, with a reputation like the one you’ve built up so quickly.’ She smirked. Loki wondered if he should tell her exactly how monstrous he could be. ‘But the others are more afraid of the cold, which is even sillier. Is it true, though? Can you make it cold?’ 

‘I could freeze you solid.’ 

‘Really?’ She sat down across from him, looking at him as though she wanted him to demonstrate. ‘And do you turn blue, like the colour of the night sky?’ 

‘I have never taken the time to compare it.’ Loki did not like the eager look in her eyes. ‘My eyes become red like blood. King Thranduil compared me to one of your Orcs.’ 

‘I doubt it. He said you kept your shape entirely, so you couldn’t look like an Orc. Show me, please.’ 

‘Give me your hand.’ The elf merely laughed and shook her head. 

‘Perhaps another time.’ 

‘What is your name?’ 

‘Tauriel,’ she smiled very kindly for someone sneaking in to meet the King’s prisoner. ‘Forgive my manners. I have never met a Man of the Dawn.’ 

‘And you haven’t yet,’ Loki snapped, looking away. He hated how this one thing kept getting the better of him. ‘I am not, as you call them, a Man of the Dawn.’ He sighed impatiently. ‘You should go before your King discovers you.’ 

‘I should,’ Tauriel agreed with a nervous glance towards the door. ‘But how about a trade before I go?’ 

‘Trade?’ 

‘One question, in exchange for sneaking in your armour. You look a bit uncomfortable, and I know they’ve finished repairing it.’ Loki narrowed his eyes, but nodded. ‘Tell me about your home. I long to hear it described. It is said almost everything is made of gold, which sounds a bit impractical.’ Silence followed her question, and she frowned with worry when his eyes appeared fixed on a memory. ‘Prince Loki?’ He rose abruptly and walked towards the bedroom. 

‘I’m afraid you mistake me again. I told you, I am not a Man of the Dawn, nor do I call Asgard my home. As for Jotunheim-’ he paused, almost choking on the word. She watched his shoulders hunch, and he gripped the frame of the door for support or something to squeeze. She imagined him squeezing her neck suddenly and rose to leave. ‘It is ice and darkness, devoid of comforts and full of monsters even larger than I.’ 

‘I’m sorry.’ Frost spread from Loki’s hand, covering the frame and reaching along the wall to the nearest painting. His hand had turned blue. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll leave you.’ 

When the door shut Loki let out a breath, and when he drew it in slowly he pulled his self-control with him. He went to the bed, his hand pale once more, laid down and thought of nothing. 

XXX 

Thranduil’s servants followed him and set the evening meal on the dining table. The sitting room was empty and the doors to the bedroom shut, but Thranduil was sure there was fruit missing from the plate, so Loki had to have gotten up at some point. One servant also laid the newly finished clothes for Loki. There were several tunics and robes in his own green colour, as well slippers and boots. 

Once left alone, Thranduil moved to the bedroom, opening the door quietly. He peaked inside and saw a shape under the covers, but something about it wasn’t right. 

Something swung at him, and Thranduil only just managed to duck. The door was slammed in his face to unbalance him. It was opened just as quickly. Loki thought he could get at him before he regained his footing, but Thranduil caught his wrist before he managed it. He hauled Loki close, their faces inches apart.

After several seconds of mutual glaring, Thranduil finally spoke. 

‘Did you destroy my desk?’ 

‘I needed something with reach, and more substantial than the bedpost.’ 

‘That was a gift.’ 

‘I’m sure you can get a new one made once I’m delivered back to the Allfather and you have been paid in full.’ 

‘I have half a mind to put you back in the dungeon, in a far less spacious cell.’ Thranduil glanced at the wrist he was holding, noting it was turning blue as Loki’s temperature sank. ‘Stop that at once. What has gotten into you?’ 

Loki wrenched himself free and stepped back. He was wearing one of Thranduil’s robes, and it was slightly too long. 

‘I’m surprised you haven’t put me somewhere I’m less gawked at. I assumed you didn’t like gossip.’ 

‘Who has been here to gawk?’ 

‘Forget it.’ Loki turned and retreated into the bedroom. Thranduil followed to the door and watched as Loki threw himself down on the bed and curled up. One of his desk’s feet lay broken on the floor. He wondered at the state of his library. 

‘You are being petulant in order to annoy me again. You feel better when people are angry at you.’ 

‘You feel better when you keep prisoners in your bed, unclothed.’ 

‘If you like I can tie you to it and feed you myself.’ It was hard to tell, but Thranduil fancied he saw a blush on a bare shoulder. ‘Come and eat if you wish to avoid that fate.’ Thranduil left him to sulk and took his dinner. Loki, to his credit, appeared swiftly and sat opposite. He glanced at the new clothing draped over one of the chairs, but he did not question where his armour was. 

‘You know I did not mean it when I said I would put you in a cell. You are here as a guest, despite your restrictions. You may have your own rooms, if you wish, of course.’ 

‘Why do you insist on that charade? Your people are no doubt gossiping about the monster in your bed.’ 

‘My people know better than that. But I have told them that your coldness is not a sign of evil. Even if you do start it up again, they will behave themselves.’ 

Loki did not speak for the rest of the meal, fiddling with his food as his thoughts turned inward. Thranduil wished he could penetrate his mind - the inner workings of which were certain to be complex. But healing of the mind and spirit required the compliance of the wounded. 

Still, it was clear that being kind was having a far more interesting effect than anything else so far, desk foot notwithstanding. 

‘I don’t recall if I offered my apologies before,’ Thranduil began cautiously, ‘but I do regret referring to you as a “horror.” You have in fact the beauty of the Eldar in you, blue or not.’ This last bit caused Loki to look up in surprise. ‘Are all Jotun like that?’ 

‘What? No, not at all- they are-’ Loki swallowed and rose, the scraping of his chair obnoxious in the cavernous room. He paused. ‘They are called frost-giants, and they are aptly named.’ 

‘Then you are not like them.’ 

‘How has your species managed to survive the ages when you possess such unconquerable self-deceit?’ Loki’s volume rose with his temper. ‘I am in fact a horror, so you need not apologies. You have no conception of the horrors I have accomplished.’ Loki was breathing heavily by the time he finished and swept from the room, slamming Thranduil’s bedroom door. 

Thranduil allowed Loki ten minutes of contemplation before he followed. He went right up to the bed. Loki’s back was turned to him. 

‘Should I apologise for my apology then?’ Thranduil said lightly. ‘You should know that a Prince has not occupied the King’s bed in such an uncommunicative manner since Legolas was young enough to have night terrors.’ 

When no answer was forthcoming Thranduil felt a smile tug at his mouth. He couldn’t be sure of course, but he was fairly confident Loki would have demanded his own rooms if he truly feared Thranduil’s advances. 

‘I have a confession to make,’ Thranduil said as he sat down on the bed. ‘There is a reason I have been keeping you here.’ 

‘Besides obscene amounts of gold?’ 

‘I meant here in my rooms.’ Loki rolled over and looked up at Thranduil, raising an eyebrow. 

‘I assumed you meant to ravish me.’ He said it jokingly, but when Thranduil merely smiled Loki coughed and sat up so, shifting towards the headboard. 

‘I had a vision,’ Thranduil’s voice dropped to a low murmur. ‘It involved you receiving great pleasure at my hands.’ Now the blush was unmistakable, though Loki tried to ignore it by raising his chin slightly and looking over Thranduil’s shoulder. 

‘Sounds more like a dream to me.’ 

‘It might have been,’ Thranduil admitted. ‘I find myself workings towards it even so.’

‘Why?’ He sounded so genuinely confused Thranduil took pity on him. He leaned forwards, and when Loki jerked away in surprise he smoothly continued down and kissed his neck just below his jaw line. Loki gasped, holding his breath, his entire body stiff as Thranduil kissed his way to his ear. ‘Why are you-’ Thranduil slipped a hand under the robe, gliding over the smooth skin. ‘I- I could turn right now and freeze you,’ Loki threatened feebly as Thranduil sucked on his earlobe. 

‘My tongue would stick quite comically to your ear then,’ he whispered, ‘and my hand...’ Loki groaned when Thranduil gripped him firmly. The flesh felt very similar to his own, so he did not doubt his skills would be very useful. 

‘Do you give all your prisoners such treatment?’ 

‘No, but my guests are another matter.’ He wrung another groan from those delicate lips, before finally capturing them with his own. He had underestimated his own desire, and his heart beat wildly as Loki grabbed his collar roughly. 

‘You looked so delectable,’ Thranduil whispered against Loki’s lips, ‘in my bed, mine to spoil.’ 

Loki pushed him, holding by the collar an arm’s length away, eyes fierce despite their glazed arousal. ‘And when I’m all spoiled?’ 

‘I believe I’m due for a bit of spoiling myself. Now, may we get back to the matter at hand?’ Loki struggled with trying to ignore Thranduil’s hand. The words were far more true than Thranduil liked to admit. He had not had the pleasure of a bedmate for centuries. Loki searched his eyes, his own showing frustration, but at what Thranduil couldn’t guess. ‘Surely pleasure is preferable to this constant wretched state you’ve put yourself in?’ 

‘Be it on your head then,’ Loki said, his voice oddly flat. He pulled Thranduil hard towards him, their mouths fitting together. They moved as one until Loki was laid under Thranduil. Loki’s robe fell open easily. Thranduil enjoyed the taste of Loki’s neck again, humming in appreciation when Loki pulled a bit hard on his hair. 

‘Your tunic,’ Loki said as he pulled at the clasps impatiently. 

‘A moment.’ 

Thranduil got up, smirking at the annoyed sound Loki made. He walked around the bed, slowly unclasping his tunic. His outer robe came off first, and he hung both of the items up in the closet. He was glad he had not adorned his hair with anything that day. Loki watched him hawkishly as Thranduil slipped out of his long boots and trousers. He held out a hand to Loki. ‘Your robe?’ Loki frowned and shrugged it off quickly, throwing it at Thranduil, who very patiently hung it up. When he turned back Loki had gotten under the covers. Before he joined him he went to his vanity cabinet and found his preferred balm for such occasions. It smelled of night and moon flowers. He placed it on the bedside table and slipped into bed next to his partner. ‘There, much more comfortable.’ 

‘You really are patient,’ Loki muttered, as if this fact about elves had completely escaped his notice until now. Thranduil smirked. He might well imagine what kind of lovemaking the brutish Asgardians engaged in. Picturing Loki in such a rut upset him. The prince was far too beautiful to be had by those as manish as the Men of the Dawn. 

Thranduil rolled closer and gently guided Loki’s face to his, kissing him firmly, opening his mouth up. When Loki was kissing back unthinkingly, Thranduil let his hand glide all down along Loki’s side, from neck, over shaking shoulder, down into the dip before his hip, then round to a firm backside. It was all delicious, especially when he left a trail of goosebumps in his wake. Loki moved closer, pulling Thranduil forward so their skin might touch. Thranduil slid a led between Loki’s, embracing him firmly as they touched everywhere at once. Loki’s member was hard still, moving in little desperate thrusts against him. 

Loki broke the kiss suddenly. ‘How will you spoil me?’ he whispered. His looks improved even more with arousal. Thranduil smirked, considering how to undo him most. Despite being patient even in love-making, the first time was always a rush. He rolled onto his back, bringing Loki with him so that the prince was on top. Loki looked surprised, and gave a quick moan when Thranduil allowed him to settle between his own spread legs. Loki immediately had to thrust, their hard members sliding together. 

‘Wait a moment,’ Thranduil admonished. Loki closed his eyes. Thranduil reached for the balm. With a press on the front lock it sprang open and he could dip his fingers. He reached between them and took hold of both of them together, making them just wet enough for a sinfully smooth sensation. Loki’s mouth fell open slightly and he dipped his head to look down between them at the sight. 

Thranduil tilted his face up to kiss again, then began guiding Loki’s thrusts by holding his hips, but the movements felt reluctant. ‘I haven’t done this since adolescence,’ Loki muttered. 

‘Keep going,’ Thranduil said, his voice surprisingly breathless. ‘Come now, do it properly, with abandon.’ Loki groaned and finally thrusted properly, hiding his face in the crook of Thranduil’s neck. His back was taut and beautiful, but not a drop of sweat Thranduil noted with satisfaction. Far from a man indeed. 

Thranduil enjoyed Loki’s movements as they increased in desperation. It had been so long since he had had a young lover, by an elf’s standards at least. His own arousal was heightening far more quickly than he had anticipated. He rolled them at the right moment. Before Loki could protest, Thranduil had slid down, disappearing under the covers. Loki made the exact ‘oh’ sound Thranduil had been wanting to produce as he tasted the prince’s flesh. Loki gripped the sheets, as though afraid to lift them and look. 

Thranduil made him arch and moan, louder and louder. ‘You bastard,’ Loki growled when Thranduil pulled away. ‘Damn your elvish patience.’ Thranduil sat up, kneeling between Loki’s very decadently spread legs, the covers slipping off him. Loki’s eyes widened at the sight. Hopefully, Thranduil looked enticing - hair tangled, hard cock, his own pale skin beginning to blush. Loki’s own blush was covering most of his chest and face. Thranduil, keeping his eyes locked firmly with his prize, asked softly: ‘Hand me the balm?’ 

Loki reached blindly for it and handed it over, hand unsteady. His member was almost so hard Thranduil felt pity, but not enough to stop his spoiling. He dipped his fingers again, leaning over and forward to place it on the bedside table after, stealing a kiss as he retreated. He watched Loki’s face intently as he pressed inside him with two fingers. Loki threw an arm over his face, groaning, muttering words like ‘bastard,’ ‘insufferable elves’, and ‘more.’ 

Thranduil only worked him for a few minutes at most. When he adjusted his position, Loki removed his arm and to Thranduil’s slight surprise his nervousness was now at last gone. They moved into position as dancers would. Thranduil pushed inside as they kissed. Once settled, Loki smirked against Thranduil’s lips. ‘Come now, do it properly, with abandon.’ Such cheek. Thranduil nipped at his ear in retribution, but he allowed his thrusts to increase more quickly than he had planned. He would never admit they rutted, but Thranduil was breathing hard. Loki was kissing and biting his neck, his hands gliding over Thranduil’s back. He was lost in sensation, touching everywhere he could reach. 

Thranduil’s thrusts were long and deep, as he preferred, but with Loki’s constant urging he was losing the battle. He forced himself to stop. ‘No, bastard,’ Loki moaned, ‘what now? Let me- oh!’ Thranduil rolled them again, gently, keeping inside Loki. ‘By the Nine, you are relentless.’ 

‘Like this, to the end,’ Thranduil said when Loki was seated on top of him, Thranduil’s member as deep as it would go. Loki swallowed, hands on Thranduil’s chest for balance. Thranduil wondered if Loki had ever been in this position before with the way he looked almost surprised it was possible. Thranduil grabbed his hips and urged him up, slamming him down a bit harder than planned. Loki gasped beautifully, and needed no more encouragement. 

‘Your hair is like the sun,’ Loki said as he looked down at him, but that was the last thing he managed as his speed made gasps and groans his only speech. Thranduil thrust up in time, feeling his completion near. He grabbed one of Loki’s hands, prying it from his chest and guiding it to Loki’s member. Loki’s eyes widened, but when he caught the look in Thranduil’s eyes he began pleasuring himself. The sight wrenched a deep groan from Thranduil, and with one last thrust he came quite unexpectedly. Loki’s back arched as was finally released himself. 

He slumped forward, managing to catch himself with a hand next to Thranduil’s head. Thranduil leaned up and kissed him softly. ‘All spoiled,’ he said with a smirk. ‘A thorough bath before bed, I think.’ Loki, still breathing heavily, sighed and rolled off. 

Thranduil could feel Loki’s eyes on his back as he went to turn on the water. He glanced over his shoulder. ‘Why don’t you go get the fruit and we can enjoy it in the bath, since I didn’t get to tie you up.’ He smirked at Loki’s look of half-annoyance at being told what to do, and surprise at the suggestion which he clearly agreed with. 

A thorough bath it was.


	6. Of Powers and Trinkets

‘Let us go for a walk. I would show you my halls.’ 

‘You would let a prisoner learn the ins and outs of his prison? Not a smart tactic, in my book.’ 

‘I would take my guest on a tour of my home.’ 

The Elvenking’s Halls were small compared to the might and majesty of Asgard, but they were more impressive in the intricate details and loving craftsmanship exhibited in even the simplest object or decoration. 

As they walked through the underground world, the sound of rushing water could often be heard, or the ceaseless droplets slowly forming natural stalagmites to match the hand-carved pillars. Deep underground, Loki and Thranduil walked (with guards always behind) down many steps until they came to a large but narrow cavern. On several floors on either side were rows of cells, small for Elves, and at the bottom the rushing river could be heard, though it grew too dark to see. 

‘Is this tour meant as a warning, or a threat?’ Loki asked, observing the solid bars for each little hole. 

‘Neither, our walk has a far more pleasant purpose,’ Thranduil said with a pleased smile. ‘I wish to show you my wine collection.’ 

Loki smiled back. 

XXX 

‘You must try. Come now, again.’ 

‘Do not speak to me like an errant child who has not mastered a wooden sword!’ 

‘If my son were being as stubborn as you I should send him hunting for a month until he could bring me a dozen spider-fangs and two score orc heads.’ 

‘That sounds disgusting.’ 

Loki rose from the bath, his skin pale. Thranduil had proposed the bath as a means of practicing Loki’s Jotun skills. The water would freeze easily and Loki would know immediately when he was on the right track. Things were proving more difficult than expected. Controlling the power while not under any threat or anxiety required actual skill. Loki had not had to learn a skill in some time. Loki wondered how his constant state of annoyance could not be enough. 

‘You will get nowhere if you go back to eating and lying about.’ 

Loki stepped out gracefully, ignoring the way Thranduil gazed at his naked body. He put on a blue robe, the colour a perfect shade to mock his failure. He had half a mind to rip it up. 

‘Why are you so obsessed about my powers?’ Loki snapped as he walked back into the salon. He sat down and ate a few pieces of fruit, to give himself something to do, and also to irritate the king. 

‘It seems unwise to let so much potential go unexplored. I thought you agreed? You could easily have been killed by the monsters in the forest.’ 

‘Surely, it is more unwise to help your prisoner master powers neither of us understand fully. Powers that might easily lead to my escape.’ 

‘At the rate we are going I doubt you’ll master anything before your father comes.’ 

Loki rose and went to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Thranduil stayed up, working in his office, until he deemed it safe to retire. Loki feigned sleep, and the situation made Thranduil bemused, likening it to old lovers. 

Loki spoke suddenly into the darkness. 

‘Perhaps if we travelled into the forest. If I faced a true opponent again-’ 

‘No, let us not discuss that which is impossible.’ 

‘Then somewhere else-’ 

‘Loki, do not destroy the little peace we have. Focus on your gifts. The mastery of them will bring you comfort-’ 

‘Is that why you insist of this charade?’ Loki sat up in bed. Thranduil could see his outline easily with his Elven eyes. ‘You think if I master my Jotuness,’ he spat the word, ‘I shall be ready to receive your healing?’ 

‘I think you might not need it at all.’ 

The words struck Loki dumb, so Thranduil turned and fell asleep. 

XXX

Thranduil knew Loki had made some sort of decision, but he allowed the princeling to keep his own counsel. It wouldn’t do to push at their delicate equilibrium. Whether this polite silence was because Loki was beginning the introspection that was needed for the healing process, or because he was playing the long game, Thranduil had to admit to ignorance. 

Their couplings were fierce, by design, to let out a bit of that rage Loki kept bottling up - and Thranduil’s own. 

In the night, Thranduil awoke shivering. He looked to his bed partner and found a thin layer of frost around Loki, like a ring of dew on a cold morning. Loki lay blue as the deep ocean, his red eyes shut but moving rapidly, though the rest of his body was still as the grave. 

Thranduil reached out, about to shake Loki’s shoulder, but hesitated and instead gently placed his hand on the top of Loki’s head. His black hair was soft. Thranduil closed his eyes and let Loki’s dreams come to him. 

Loki knew he was dreaming, Thranduil realised at once, but he had not connected this fact to the act of awakening. He was huddled, in child form, in a corner. Thranduil felt the vast emptiness of a palace almost beyond reckoning around him. There was a book clutched to the child’s chest. The little Loki guarded it like a precious jewel. Several times he heard the sound of running children, and huddled closer to the wall as though he could meld with it, and Thranduil saw that he did, inch by inch, his skin becoming the colour of the marble. But this was the dream at work, not the memory. 

A bright light came around the corner. It was so piercing and warm Thranduil was certain Loki would be forced awake by its incomprehension. If Thranduil ever imagined Valinor, its light would be just so. 

The mother appeared. Thranduil saw the name in Loki’s mind. She knelt by his side with a kind smile, took his hand, and together they walked off. The little Loki was pure happiness at the rescue, but the Loki who knew he was dreaming could see the dream’s sequence before it happened, yet did nothing to stop it. As little Loki and Frigga walked, the former now skipping, the tiles on the floor began to give way, falling away into an endless cosmos of swirling stars, a black hole in the centre swallowing it all like a hungry maelstrom. 

Little Loki was oblivious to the approaching danger. The tiles fell one by one, slowly like a creature stalking its prey. When the tile under little Loki’s foot fell away the child let out such a scream as to make Thranduil flinch even in the dream world. Frigga walked on, the tiles remaining under her feet, her hand stretched out as though still holding Loki’s. Little Loki fell backwards until he reached the black hole. It swallowed him like a beast, biting chunks away until Loki was nothing, his reaching hand the last morsel to be gobbled up. 

Loki the dreamer remained relatively calm, but Thranduil sensed his deep distress straining to break free and rage the anxiety away. 

Thranduil withdrew his hand and saw Loki’s eye movement was slowing as the dream faded. The frost around him had melted away. Thranduil settled back and tried to sleep, unsuccessfully. 

XXX 

The last moon of autumn was approaching, but in the Elvenking’s halls winter had reigned a long time already. Although Loki could not control it with any skill without either being under threat or highly agitated, the cold that permeated from him came in constant waves. Thranduil’s people were cold and restless, and each day Thranduil’s hospitality withered a little more. 

Thranduil’s patience wore thin when he returned to his rooms to find it a winter wonderland, every surface frozen and snow falling from the ceiling. Loki sat in the middle, staring glumly at his blue hands. Fearing another escape attempt if he chided him, Thranduil pretended it was nothing to worry about. They would simply sleep in a different apartment until the rooms were melted. Never mind the ruined fabrics. 

If Thranduil thought all Loki did during the daytime when he was alone was eat, bathe and pretend to practice his powers, he was grossly mistaken. Loki was learning Elvish. 

Sometimes the old fears came back and he couldn’t manage to turn blue at all. His progress was frustratingly slow, and not near good enough for another escape attempt. 

The language of the Eldar was a distraction. Using hastily scribbled missives and poor handwriting as learning tools wasn’t an easy task. But Loki had found a single letter in the common language, which was easily translatable. The answer was written in Elvish by the king, and then translated by a scribe - no doubt because the king deemed it degrading to write in anything but his own flowery script. His arrogance was Loki’s key. 

It wasn’t that he needed to learn Elvish. It was the information he was after. A tiny tidbit might be all that was needed to outsmart the lot, but it was also engaging work. It reminded him of puzzles he had loved a child. He also could not deny the beauty of the language, its rules and beautiful script, or the way Loki’s ears tingled when Thranduil murmured something to himself absentmindedly. 

During the day when Thranduil was gone on kingly business, Elvish servants brought Loki food and writing utensils. He drew a little on some of them and left them about, to give the impression he was studying the crystals and Elven artwork. He began listening in to the hushed conversations they had just as they closed or opened the doors to the King’s rooms. 

Two words he often heard, and when he finally translated them, he resented his hosts even more. They had taken to calling him “cund heleg” - or at least something with those two words used - he couldn’t quite hear the whole phrase. The first one he was almost certain was a form of the word for prince, the second simply meant “ice.” The Ice Prince, how stupidly simplistic. And then they began shortening it to a single name, as if Loki were not easy to pronounce or remember! They occasionally named him Heleg, then Hel. Loki had to restrain himself from throttling them whenever their whispered gossip become more comprehensible to him. 

It was during the short conversation Loki discovered a great feast was about to be held. Perhaps if the whole kingdom was in a drunken stupor, Loki could escape, this time in a less dangerous direction. 

XXX

Loki bent over Thranduil’s desk. The King had locked the door to his office that morning, as he always did ever since Loki had broken the old desk. But Loki picked the lock every day and shut it every night. The letter he was working on was fascinating compared to the rest he had painstakingly interpreted. This was about a mountain, filled with gold, guarded by a dragon. 

Smaug. The name sprang off the page and Loki felt his tongue tense as if he was compelled to say it out loud. Lord Smaug the Impenetrable, a fine name. The dragon had hoarded the gold of the dwarves for over a century and a half, and now it appeared he was stirring. The letter mostly told of omens, which Loki had little faith in, but the story was compelling. He was so engrossed he failed to realise it was Thranduil’s usual hour to return. 

‘What are you doing?’ Thranduil’s voice whipped at Loki, who looked up in shock at being caught. ‘Are you read-’ Thranduil narrowed his eyes and finished the sentence in Elvish, ‘Have you learnt the tongue of the Eldar?’ 

‘Only a little,’ Loki spoke haltingly, unused to having to form foreign words physically instead of translating with spells. ‘I did it to make time pass swiftly. A prisoner must find his own amusement.’ 

‘A prisoner has no business in the king’s chamber, reading his private correspondence.’ 

‘Indeed,’ Loki said, eyes growing cold. So much for Thranduil insisting he was a guest. Loki continued in the common tongue. ‘A prisoner’s business lies solely in the king’s bed, apparently.’ 

‘Get out.’ 

Loki rose gracefully and walked out without glancing at the king. He wrapped his robe closer around himself and flopped down on one of the divans. Thranduil slammed the door shut and turned to Loki. 

‘If you would rather return-’ Thranduil stopped himself, closing his eyes and sighing. ‘No, no more. I have done all in my power to appreciate your delicate mental state, your fear at your own identity-’ Loki looked away at those words, ‘And I even forgive the destruction of my property, the freezing of my guards, but that was with the hope of change, of healing. I understand now you have no desire to heal yourself, only to play games, and so it is all pointless.’ 

‘Do all Elven healers bed their patients?’ 

Thranduil gave him a withering look and went to the door. He called his guards. ‘You shall remain in the dungeon until your father comes to collect you. I will tell him your wounds are beyond our power.’ 

Loki rose as the guards entered, eyeing them. He spoke in Elvish. ‘Careful not to touch the Prince of Ice. You might be frozen solid.’ 

The guards hesitated. Thranduil barked the order to take the prisoner below. They made sure to take Loki by the sleeves. 

He was put in a tiny cell, in the lowest part of the dungeon. He was the only prisoner. 

But not for long. 

XXX

‘No need to shove!’ 

‘Get your Elf-paws off me!’ 

‘Will we get to share a room?’ 

Loki listened to the commotion with interest. No one came down to the bottom level where he was locked away, but it sounded like almost all the other cells in Thranduil’s dungeon would be full tonight. 

They were dwarves, that much Loki could tell, and some of them high-born by the sound of their indignation. At least eleven of them, by the sound of their feet. They were locked in one by one in the small cells - though perhaps they were just the right side for dwarves. Loki had to bend to look out through the bars, but the angle was too steep to see to the levels above. He could just manage to spot the feet of the Elven guards as they hurried back up. 

One lingered. When she spoke Loki realised it was Tauriel. She flirted rather pathetically with a dwarf. Loki had known she was an odd one, but this was a bit much. Luckily the Prince was there to hurry her along. 

Loki did not make his presence known. The dwarves spent several minutes grumbling and growling in their native tongue, a far cry from the flowing Elvish. A last dwarf was brought down. From the description he gave of his audience with the King, Thranduil was most likely more than a little annoyed. That thought comforted Loki greatly. 

As the dwarves settled down to try and sleep, Loki debated if he should speak. He could easily convince them to help him escape, but then something made him freeze cold, a strange sensation for him. 

There was another presence in the dungeons. Loki sat silently on the stone slab in his cell and listened very carefully. He could detect the sound of skin slapping on stone, but it was very, very faint. 

It wasn’t the noise that had alerted him, however, but the powerful magic that seemed to be calling to him. It was like a longing song, a whisper of warmth in the cold, or droplets of water to a man dying of thirst. Loki had never felt its like. He kneeled by the bars, gripping them and pressing his forehead to the metal. It was close, and getting closer. He shut his eyes to enjoy the sensation. 

The little feet descended the last stairs to the bottom level, but stopped abruptly, probably because the creature had spotted him. Loki opened one eye the barest of fractions and saw that, as expected, the creature was rendered invisible by the magic. But Loki could see him-no, feel him. He shone like beacon, as though he wanted Loki to see him, but such a little creature could not be in control of such magic. It had to be an artefact, a talisman of some sort that the creature had come across. 

Loki closed his eye again and let a small smile spread. 

‘I know you are there,’ he whispered so softly not even the cavern carried the sounds up to the dwarves. The creature remained still. ‘You need not fear. I am no friend of King Thranduil, or any living creature on Middle-Earth. I am friendless and so I am powerless. Nothing to fear.’ 

The creature approached, hopefully too curious to run away. It did not become visible, but stepped close to the bars so it could whisper back. 

‘If not a friend, then what? An enemy imprisoned?’ The voice was surprisingly cultured, and pleasant. 

‘A monster, according to the Elves.’ Loki opened his eyes and smiled sadly in the direction of the creature. ‘I am a prisoner here until my kin come to collect me. They have paid Thranduil a dragon’s horde to keep me here.’

‘Why does your own kin imprison you?’ 

‘Because they discovered I was not their true kin. I was placed with them as a babe, but I am from a people they war against. So away I go to be kept from good folk until the Elves can either civilise or discipline me.’ 

The creature’s silence was sympathetic, Loki was almost certain. He shook his head as if to clear it of troubling memories. 

‘But enough about my wretched state. What right does Thranduil hold over a dozen dwarves and- whatever you are?’ 

‘I’m...’ 

‘You need not tell me. Keep your secrets.’ Loki strained to look up to the cells above. ‘As much as I should like companions in my imprisonment, I can not in good conscience let you remain.’ Their conversation had to stop as they listened to the grunting of annoyed dwarves for a while. Luckily, they all appeared to be falling asleep rapidly. 

‘Do you know of a way out?’ 

‘Go down,’ Loki pointed. ‘The wine cellar has a trap door to the river. They use it to float the many barrels of wine back to the lake. Swim or ride a barrel, the current will take you far beyond Thranduil’s realms.’ 

‘But how do I get them out?’ 

‘The jailor will be down there for most of the night.’

‘How do you know that?’

Loki smiled. ‘Because even Elves are predictable at times. The feast begins soon, and the jailor will become annoyed at having to guard dwarves all night. He will go down to his friends in the cellar, and I would wager a single barrel between them will be enough.’ 

‘Steal them once he’s drunk, you mean?’

Loki smiled and nodded. The creature suffered its feet, probably looking down the stairs and considering the plan. 

‘Why tell me this?’ 

‘Well, in the hopes that you should look kindly on me of course,’ Loki said. He shook his head. ‘But I understand if you don’t unlock my cell. I am none of your business, after all.’ 

‘Thranduil truly keeps you here because your family paid him?’ 

‘Paid him half,’ Loki corrected. ‘The rest he will receive when I am returned.’ 

The creature hesitated, then in a rushed whisper he said ‘wait here’ and hurried down the steps. Loki allowed himself to sit back on the stone slab and wrap his self-satisfaction around himself. After bathing in the magic of whatever trinket the creature carried, Loki knew he must possess it at any cost. It alone could give him the power he needed. 

He now had a plan that would lead him to power and freedom. For the first time since before his visit to Jotunheim, he felt in control again, at least a little, but he would take what he could get. 

He would follow the creature and steal its magical trinket.


	7. Of Mice and Giants

Thranduil was in a foul mood. Even the cold invading his kingdom could not make it worse. He knew the true cause of his feelings, but he buried them deep. 

It was betrayal, pure and pathetic, because deep down a tiny part of him had dared hope Loki was willing to improve, and was healing. Thranduil had put too much faith in the idea that if Loki mastered his Jotun powers, he would master himself. 

Thranduil’s temper had made it all blow up in his face, and he was no closer to healing the wretched creature than when he first arrived. Although Thranduil would never admit it, the vision of the jewels were straying further from his mind every day. 

But the fact remained that if Loki should ever possess the jewels, it was vital he trust Thranduil enough to give them to him. The vision was like a dream, and sometimes Thranduil wondered if it hadn’t been just a dream after all, since it had not returned. But his annoyance with Loki’s stubbornness clouded his mind to such things. 

And now the King Without A Mountain was locked away mere feet from Loki. Fate’s heavy hand, Thranduil thought. It had been Fate that sparked Thranduil’s anger so much as to throw his guest in the dungeon right before these dwarves arrived. 

But what to do now? Follow Fate’s course or try to steer against it? 

‘My King, the prisoners! They are escaping down the river!’ A guard cried from the other end of the hall, by the entrance to the dungeon stairs. 

‘Is Loki still here?’ 

‘No, Your Majesty, he is escaping as well.’ 

Too late, fate had taken the choice out of his hands.

XXX

 _Some time earlier..._

The tinkling laughter and music of the feast could be heard all the way down to the dungeon, but down below the Elves on watch were not making much noise at all in their drunken stupors. Loki pressed himself up against the inner wall of his cell so that the dwarves would pass by without noticing him. Sure enough, all twelve hurried down. Bilbo came last, and for a moment Loki thought he would ignore him. 

But the little creature, who Loki could now see resembled a small man, almost childlike, hesitated and returned. 

‘There are only enough barrels for the dwarves and I,’ he said apologetically. 

‘I can swim well enough.’ 

Bilbo quickly unlocked the cell and Loki stepped out. The little creature looked up in mild surprise at seeing Loki’s full height. 

‘Thank you,’ Loki said. ‘I’ll wait until you are gone. If I hear anyone approach I shall make a noise.’ 

‘Very well… thank you.’ 

‘It is I who should thank you.’ Loki bowed low. ‘Mr.?’

‘Bilbo, Bilbo Baggins.’ 

‘My hero, Mr. Baggins. I am Loki of Asgard. I am curious, so I have to ask, what are you?’

‘Oh, I’m a hobbit, from the Shire.’ 

‘You seem a very resourceful people, Mr. Baggins. But we best get moving.’ Bilbo quickly realised the dwarves were getting far ahead of him and hurried after. Loki followed silently. He saw them all hide in the barrels and wait to be accidentally set free. Behind several rows of wine bottle was a table were the guards were slumped over, drunk. Loki slipped over to the them and studied them. He snatched a pouch of gold from each of them, fastening them to the belt on his robe. He wished he had time to steal their armour. He did manage to unsheathe a sword. It felt very good in his hand. 

‘Haven’t you set the barrels loose yet?’ a voice cried. Loki froze, staring warily at the drunks for signs of movement, but they did not wake. He slipped between the wine racks, spying the new guard through the shelves. The elf - probably come down for more wine - was pulling the lever. The trap door opened slowly and down tumbled the dwarves, and Bilbo, invisible. 

The elf observed the barrels, and just as he was about to pull the lever once more to close the door, Loki made his move. He stepped swiftly up behind the elf and pressed the tip of his stolen sword to the elf’s neck. 

‘If you remain silent, you will live,’ Loki whispered in Elvish. The elf remained perfectly still, but Loki could still feel him drawing breath, slowly, deeply, in order to shout for help. 

For a split second, Loki was completely paralyzed with indecision. The tip of his sword would not be driven into the elf’s neck. All Loki could see was long blond hair and rigid shoulders, slowly rising as the elf prepared to alert the drunks. Loki felt the movement as the elf’s lips parted, ready to shout, and die. Loki panicked. 

The elf’s scream was stopped as his head, neck and shoulders became encased in ice, about an inch or two thick. Loki stepped back in shock. 

The elf struggled, easily breaking off bits of ice and he forced his arms out. Realising his time was short, Loki ran for the trap door and slid down into the cold river. 

He was never the strongest swimmer, and would later suspect no Jotuns were, but he was physically strong enough to keep swimming and allow the current to carry him. He could see the barrels up ahead, and swam as best he could to reach the closest one. 

Inside was the hobbit. 

‘No, don’t! He’s not an elf!’ Bilbo cried, arms up. One of the dwarves put down a branch he had been about to hit Loki with. ‘He helped us escape!’ Bilbo explained. Any protests at Loki’s presence were halted at the arrival of a pack of Orcs. They were far more disciplined than the ones Loki had encountered in the forest - a hunting party, Loki guessed. 

They ran along the river, shooting arrows at the dwarves. Loki let go of the barrel and dived under the water, swimming hard for the shore. He clung to a rock and hauled himself up. By the time he was on land, the Orcs were further down, chasing the dwarves. Loki followed at a light sprint, intending to observe the battle from afar. 

The river was barred by a gate, and it was here the dwarves had to make their stand. Loki ducked behind a bush to observe. The dwarves were valiant in battle, especially considering they were without weapons and in barrels. 

An Elven arrow pierced one of the Orcs, and Loki withdrew further. Several Elves leapt from the trees. Loki considered running, but the hobbit’s trinket called to him. If Bilbo was killed, and was carried off by the river, or sank to the bottom, would Loki be able to retrieve It? 

There was no choice but to spring into battle, slicing through Orcs with his Elvish blade. On the other side of the river an Orc took aim at the hobbit, so Loki leapt across, his sword driving straight through the Orc before Loki’s feet touched the ground. 

Pulling the sword free, Loki turned to meet his next foe, only to be surprised by the Orc’s sword already slicing towards him. He raised his weapon to parry, but knew it would be weak. The Orc’s movement was aborted before their steel met, however, by an arrow to the neck. 

Loki spun to see its source, and saw Tauriel. She gave him a nod before taking care of more Orcs. Loki wanted the treasure, but this was pure folly. He abandoned the fight and ran downstream along the river. 

He heard the cry of Orcs running and suspected the dwarves had managed to open the gate. Soon even those sounds faded, though Loki kept up his speed. He hid when he saw the dwarves pass by on the river, no Orcs in sight, and no Elves pursuing them. 

Close to the mouth of the river, Loki observed the party from behind a large boulder. One of them was injured, the youngest most likely. Loki waited for them to regroup and begin discussing their predicament. They complained of not reaching the mountain in time. There was no doubt any longer: the dwarves meant to take back the mountain from the dragon, Smaug. They desired the gold, and had likely heard the prophecies Loki had read of in Thranduil’s correspondence. 

Loki came out from behind the boulder, still dripping wet, leaving his sword behind. The dwarves grabbed their weapons - stolen Orkish ones - but none of them attacked mindlessly. Oddly enough the little hobbit jumped to his defence once again. 

‘Wait,’ he said, standing between his friends and Loki. ‘He is the one who helped us. He was a prisoner, like you, and told me about the barrels.’ 

‘Who are you?’ the lead dwarf demanded - Loki had heard his name, Thorin. 

‘My name is Loki of Asgard.’ Most of the dwarves frowned in confusion, but one white-haired one gasped and stepped close to Thorin. 

‘A man of the Dawn,’ he said. ‘Our people once traded with them. Your ancestor once welcomed King Bor of Asgard to his halls.’ 

‘I recall the stories,’ Thorin said, keeping a watchful eye on Loki. ‘Why are you here?’ 

‘I was made a prisoner of Thranduil’s after a betrayal from my family. I seek only to get as far away from my prison as possible. Perhaps you would let me follow your company a while, since I know little of this land. I am skilled in combat, as you just observed.’ 

‘We are not going far enough for your liking, I think,’ Thorin said. ‘And our party is full.’ 

‘Then I wish you luck, and thank you, Mr. Baggins, for letting me take part in your escape. Farewell.’ Loki turned, grabbed his sword, and wandered off in the opposite direction of the mountain, but he did not go far. 

He watched them as they discussed Kili’s injury, and how they were taken by surprise (again) by a man of the lake. Bard he called himself - a man with sad eyes, Loki observed. 

As they were haggling over price, Loki revealed himself again. Again he caused a commotion, and again the hobbit defended him. They all fell silent when Loki produced a bag full of gold. 

‘I’m sure this covers my passage, and I will not be needing a barrel.’ 

‘They’re suspicious of strangers,’ Bard said, eyeing Loki with more distrust than Loki thought strictly necessary. ‘The Master might have you arrested simply for being unknown.’ 

‘I will take my chances, and you’ll be paid up front.’ 

‘Why do you wish to go to Lake-town?’ Thorin demanded. ‘You said you wanted to get away.’ 

‘I do, but I need supplies, which are generally found around people willing to sell them. Now, Bard was it? Is my gold as good as the dwarves coin?’ 

The man looked world-weary and annoyed at the prospect, but he agreed to smuggle the dwarves and ferry Loki. He also gave the latter a simple brown hooded cloak to hide his Elven robes. Loki rolled his eyes at the quarrelsome dwarves who would not shut up as they sailed the lake - until they caught a glimpse of the mountain. Their devotion to their cause was a powerful motivation. Loki took note of it. He made sure not to give special attention to Bilbo, which in time seemed to unconsciously reassure the creature. 

The others had to crawl back in their barrels and then suffer the indignify of fish. At the town’s water gate, they were stopped by a pair of bored guards. 

‘Thirteen barrels of fish, and a passenger,’ Bard told the guard. They were about to be waved through when an oily, disgusting man stepped out of the gatehouse. 

‘You’re licenced as a bargeman, Bard,’ the man said, ‘not to ferry passengers, be they live or dead.’ He kicked one of the fish barrels, then looked askance at Loki. ‘Who’s this then?’ 

Loki stepped forward and removed his hood, staring directly into the man’s eyes. It was clear he was almost taken for an Elf, before the lack of ears made the man more confused. 

‘I am Loki of Asgard. A man of the Dawn,’ he said in his softest voice. ‘I am here on behalf of my people. Perhaps the Master of the Lake might grant me an audience?’ 

The man, mouth agape, said nothing until Bard coughed. 

‘Eh, yes, all visitors must declare themselves to the Master,’ he proclaimed haltingly with as much authority as he could muster. ‘You’ll have to come with me.’ Loki stepped off the barge. His sword was taken from him. The man ordered the guards to escort Loki to the Master, leading the way himself, completely forgetting about the fish. 

XXX 

The Master’s house was the only well-built structure in the whole sorry town, but it hadn’t been serviced in many life-times. It spoke of a part greatness, or as great as men’s cities could be. The Master himself spoke of nothing but greed, gluttony, narcissism, and desperation. He sat behind a large oak desk, wispy haired except for the top of his head, and beady-eyed. When Loki entered he showed great interest and curiosity, then confusion as once again Loki was found lacking in the ear-department. 

‘Who is this?’ He looked down his nose as Loki, a rather impressive feat from a sitting position. 

‘He claims to be a Man of the Dawn, My Lord,’ the oily servant replied. Loki bowed low. He would rather cut these simpletons to ribbons, but getting at the hobbit was easier with less bloodshed. Besides, it would be easier to disappear afterwards without Thranduil following him if he didn’t leave a trail of bodies. 

‘My Lord of Lake-town. I am Loki of Asgard. I have come to this realm, tasked by my King, Odin Allfather, to reestablish our trade routes of old. Unfortunately I have been met with little hospitality from Elves and dwarves.’ 

‘Ha, no wonder that,’ the Master laughed, but he was not convinced. ‘But you must have enjoyed King Thranduil’s hospitality somewhat to go about prancing in Elven robes?’ 

‘I wear this fabric only because I was robbed of my possessions.’ 

‘Greedy Elves,’ the Master muttered, taking a large gulp of wine from his tankard. He considered. ‘What trade does the so-called All-Father mean to bring to our town?’ 

‘Precious gems, gold and sharp weapons, in exchange for good wine, food and skilled craftsmen.’ 

‘But you have none of that with you now? Taken by the Elves I suppose? And I suppose the All-Father has so few people to spare that he sends only a single emissary?’ 

‘My Lord,’ Loki looked down with sadness. ‘My party was attacked almost as soon as we arrived in this realm, by the dwarves of the Iron Hills.’ Loki looked at the servant with a quizzical expression. ‘I do not know if they are the same type of dwarves who snuck into town with Bard’s fish, but then I know little of dwarves in general. They did seem similar in mood and manner.’ 

The Master rose from his chair in shock, glaring at the servant. ‘What!?’ 

‘The fish-?’ the servant looked from Loki to his Master and back, trying desperately to remember. 

‘I believe one of them is called Thorin. They were on some sort of quest,’ Loki shrugged. 

The Master raged at the servant until he fled in shame to have the dwarves arrested. Once alone, the Master turned to Loki and slapped an arm around his shoulders, walking them into his private sitting room. 

‘Tell me everything you overheard,’ he said. 

‘I take it this information is valuable to you?’ 

‘I see, yes yes, we shall discuss trade-’ 

‘I care little for the import/export business.’ The Master narrowed his eyes at Loki, who gave a small bow. ‘I am your servant in all things if you grant me but a single object.’ 

‘And this object is?’ 

‘The dwarves travel with a little creature by the name of Bilbo Baggins. He has stolen a family heirloom from me. It’s a small trinket of purely sentimental value, but if I return to Asgard without it I will disappoint my entire family.’ 

‘Son, you can have everything this Baggins possesses, just tell me what they’re planning!’ 

XXX 

‘You let them go! Why?’ Loki tried not to let his anger out and destroy his relationship with the Master, but the idiocy of men never ceased to amaze him. 

The Lord of Lake-town dismissed him with a wave of his hand as he ate more from his plate of sausage and cabbage. Finally, when there was just enough room in his mouth to speak, he explained. 

‘It has been prophesied! The King Under the Mountain has returned and with him our glory days of old will be ours again.’ 

‘I promised you glory days-’ 

‘You promised trade in weeks or months time,’ the Master corrected with a tutting noise. ‘Thorin Oakenshield means to free the gold from the dragon before the week’s end.’ The Master’s greed was truly a sight to behold. Loki sent up a prayer to the universe that the whole town would burn for their Master’s greed. 

He did not let his distaste show, but instead leaned forward in a concerned manner, ignoring the greasy food on his own plate. ‘And what guarantee do you have that the dwarf will share his gold once he has taken back the mountain?’ 

‘He gave his word, and he would be wise to keep it,’ the Master said darkly. 

‘So you have an army somewhere ready to send against him should he deny you what he promised?’ Loki looked around the dining room as though the army might be hiding behind one of the chairs. The Master’s face became sour, and he actually stopped eating. Loki placated him immediately. ‘Forgive me, My Lord, but dwarves are greed incarnate, and if Oakenshield takes the mountain he will wall himself in before sharing the dragon’s treasure. But, if I might be of service to you once more, for a small additional fee, I will follow the group and report back to you all relevant information.’ Loki knew he couldn’t do anything for nothing, as the Master saw the world in give and take. 

The fee and supplies agreed upon, Loki was free from the Master’s company. As he was dressing in a gaudy room with a too soft bed, the oily servant knocked on the door. 

‘What do you want?’ Loki asked as he turned back to his gear to study it, turning his back to the servant. He had little patience for the dumb creature. 

‘My Lord Loki,’ the servant began. 

‘I am no Lord.’ 

‘Sir. I wish to offer you my services, not on this particular journey, mind - my back’s not really built for mountain climbing - but if ever you have need of a servant in the future, I am your man.’ After such a pathetic speech, Loki turned to look him over. He was exceedingly distasteful and stupid, but he had two qualities useful in servants: recognition of power, and loyalty to the most powerful. Loki put down the gear he was inspecting and gave the servant his full penetrating gaze. The man wilted slightly, but did not flee, which likely meant the offer was genuine and not a ploy by the Master. 

‘If ever you are in need of employment, do bring your qualifications to my attention,’ Loki said. The man nodded and hurried away. The chances of such a man being useful weren’t high, but you never knew. 

Loki clad himself in light traveling clothes and armour. First a fine forest green thigh-length tunic with gold stitching on the cuffs and collar. Then leather breeches, knee-high boots, all probably taken from the Master’s younger days. Next the armour: leather breastplate, greaves, and shoulder guard, all imprinted with the mark of the family - a rack of fish enclosed in a laurel circle. The armour was fine enough for men’s craftsmanship. Lastly, a belt with a lion’s head, misshapen due to the artist never having seen a lion, a pair of oxenblood red gloves with some kind of fur lining, and the brown cloak from Bard. As for weapons: he got his Elvish blade back along with an ill-fitting sheath, as well as a small blade strapped to his thigh and a bow and quiver. Loki had never been the best shot on Asgard, but he was far better than most of the warriors, so he took it. 

Once dressed and covered with the hood, he could pass for a man of the Lake easily. He tied his hair back, and gathered his pack of supplies, which would last a man a week in the wild. Hopefully, he would not need that long. 

He left in the middle of the night, so that the dwarves would pass by him halfway up the mountain. They would be too watchful for him to follow them across the lake during the day. 

XXX 

The dwarves were equipped with hilariously oversized armour and weapons. Loki hid in the ruins on a once great city and watched them pass with solemn faces. It wasn’t until they had passed him by that he realised why the city was burnt. Loki looked at the mountain, finding it suddenly sinister. 

Once the dwarves reached the mountainside proper it quickly became clear that they were not going straight for the massive entrance. They were searching for something much smaller. Even though Bilbo wandered off alone to search, Loki decided to wait to see what they found out of pure curiosity. 

Loki had to steel himself with patience. Whatever hole or entrance they were looking for, they weren’t doing a very good job of it. But the hobbit seemed like the type to notice details, so he kept a close eye on him. As predicted, it was Bilbo who found the hole - a key hole, it turned out. 

As the dwarves argued over riddles and light, Loki considered what exactly lurked inside the mountain they were desperately trying to get inside. Smaug, the name had haunted Loki’s mind since he had read it. He realised he wished quite strongly to see the creature for himself. He was so engrossed in his imaginings he almost missed the opening of the door, and the sentence of the hobbit: the sentence of his employment apparently, to go inside and retrieve a stone. 

All this for a single jewel. The stories had told of an uncountable value of gold within, but Thorin desired only one stone. 

Bilbo, showing more courage than the sturdy dwarves, went inside. 

The others mingled outside, watching the views, arguing over trivial things, telling tales of the glory days of the Kingdom of Erebor, or staring stubbornly into the dark hole that was the entrance. 

Loki decided he needed a distraction. He was only a few feet away, slightly above the dwarves to the left of the entrance. Behind him, not three feet from his foothold, was nothing but air. But if he vaulted over the rock he was hiding behind, he might easily disappear into the dark of the door in three seconds flat. 

He took his bow and spied a little bird, a thrush, that kept circling round the area as though to observe what strangeness had come to its home. 

It was shot easily. The dwarves had not been looking at the bird, used to its presence by now. All they heard was the cry of the bird and a streak as it fell below the edge of the platform of rock they were resting on. They leapt to their feet and hurried to the edge of the precipice to see what had happened. 

In the confusion Loki was inside the mountain long before the first dwarf looked back. None of them could see where the bird had landed, and not all were sure it had been an arrow that felled it, so none bothered to climb all the way down to confirm it before they had to.

Inside the mountain, Loki took a deep breath of the strange and foul stench, and walked silently towards it. 

XXX 

Much of Asgard was gilded, and being a Prince meant Loki had seen more than his fair share of treasure. Compared to the vast halls of Erebor, Loki’s lifetime seemed but a week’s worth. Why would they horde such vast riches? It seemed a complete waste - think of all you could buy! Weapons, food, knowledge and craftsmanship, all worth far more than pure, glittering gold. 

How could a hobbit hope to find a single gem in all of this? 

He was trying, that much Loki could see. From the top of the stairs, he could see the hobbit hesitating at the edge of the hills of gold. He was scanning around himself, probably wondering where the dragon was. Loki was wondering that as well. Its smell and heat could be felt. The inside of a mountain was usually nice and cold, but here a heat lingered, threatening to rise and cause him to sweat. 

Loki quickly descended the stairs, and did not bother to hide his steps from the hobbit. He turned around as Loki came down to greet him with a smile. 

‘What are you doing here,’ Bilbo hissed. He was clutching his trinket nervously. 

‘I’m here to help you, of course, as repayment,’ Loki whispered. ‘This place is too big for one to search.’ 

‘I’m only here because they think I’m a burglar, and the dragon hasn’t smelled a hobbit before.’ 

Loki bit his lip to keep from laughing at that idea. ‘It’s doubtful he’s smelled a Jotun either.’ Loki walked around Bilbo and began scanning the heaps of gold. 

‘A what?’ 

‘Hush, don’t wake it. You go that way, and I’ll go this way.’ 

‘But-’ 

‘I have no interest in a single gem, or any for that matter. I am merely repaying my debt to you before I return home. Now, the Arkenstone, was it? White and luminous, correct?’ 

‘Yes, eh- you’ll know it when you see it.’ 

Loki nodded and began traversing the nearest pile of gold. He stepped as lightly as he could, but there was still some displacement. Using his keen eyesight, he scanned the piles of gold. It all seemed to glow from its own light, but here and there the light reflected differently, indicating jewels, so Loki merely focused in on the brightest points. 

Finding it was surprisingly easy. The Arkenstone wasn’t particularly well-cut, but it was certainly special. Loki turned it over and over in his hands, pondering its price on Asgard.

A puff of air almost made him drop it. Gold shot out like a geyser not ten feet from him, a larger displacement causing a small avalanche. Loki slipped the jem into his tunic and stepped far enough back to remain on firm ground. 

The puff of air revealed the giant nostrils of the best. When it began to speak, its mouth caused a cascade of gold Loki had to sidestep to avoid. 

‘What are you, who brings the winter cold into my home?’ 

The voice was deep, rumbling like thunder, yet sharp as a whip. Loki’s heart rate sped up instantly. This creature was more formidable than anticipated. A movement caught his eye, and Loki turned his head to see the tip of a tail rise above the gold like a serpent in the water, far off to the right. Loki realised that drawing his sword would be useless. 

‘I am Loki-... Prince Loki Laufeyson, of Jotunheim.’ 

‘Names without meaning,’ Smaug drawled, bored. ‘Why are you stealing from me?’ 

‘I haven’t stolen anything. I was merely admiring. I read about you while imprisoned by King Thranduil. You seemed like the most impressive thing in this realm, so I had to see you for myself.’ 

‘Is flattery a useful skill in your realm? You are adept at it.’ The dragon moved abruptly, raising its head out of the gold completely, stretching its neck long and shaking off bits of treasure. They fell from the ceiling like gold rain. Loki had to bend his back to see the whole creature. 

‘Well?’ Smaug demanded. ‘Are you impressed?’ It fixed Loki with golden eyes. Its front legs came out next, claws bigger than spears, crushing the gold underneath. Its red hide glowed with inner heat. Loki had to take a few steps back as a gust of warm air made him slightly sick. 

‘More than I had ever imagined,’ Loki said, without lying. ‘I have never seen your like in any realm, and I have visited many.’ 

‘You are silver-tongued. What else are you? Your smell is strange to me, and you are cold as ice. Tell me, do you melt or bleed?’ 

‘I am Jotun- a frost giant.’ 

Smaug tilted his head up and barked out a laugh so loud the chamber shook. 

‘Giant!’ he laughed. He looked down at Loki. ‘Frost mice, I think.’ 

‘Compared to you, there can be no giants,’ Loki agreed. 

‘You have come far to gaze upon me, frost mouse,’ Smaug said. ‘Now that you have gazed your fill, what will you do?’ 

‘I will continue on my journey home, and if I ever make it there I will tell everyone about your greatness.’ 

Smaug looked ready to laugh again when some sound caught his attention. He arrowed his eyes on the stairs Loki had come down and sniffed the air. 

‘You come with others also strange to me. You come to steal from me,’ he growled. 

Loki was done with flattery. Only one thing left to do: run. 

Smaug raged and stomped. As he ran Loki could hear the dragon drawing breath. He dived behind a pillar just in time as a blast of fire engulfed all his vision. Its heat was terrifying, but then less so. He felt his skin turn colder, thicker even as his armour felt tighter. His Jotun skin had come out on instinct. But could Jotun ice stand against such raw firepower? Doubtful. 

The second the fire stopped Loki ran again towards the stairs. Up and up he went. He dived down behind the stone wall at the balcony at the top as another blast of fire hit him. Smaug was so enraged he wasn’t moving very well in between the pillars. As Loki braced himself against the wall, willing the fire to stop lest he actually did melt, he realised something was right next to him. He felt its heat and could feel the power calling to him. He reached out and managed to grab a fistful of fabric, drawing the hobbit near him. 

‘Take it off,’ he growled. A second later and the hobbit’s face appeared mere inches from his own, white with fear. 

‘How did you-’ 

‘The Arkenstone,’ Loki said, holding up the stone in his other hand. Bilbo’s eyes fixed on it, the light making his eyes shine. ‘The Arkenstone for your little invisibility trick.’ 

‘What?’ Bilbo shook his head as he struggled to get free. He held his left hand away and Loki caught a glimpse of a golden ring. Smaug was sniffing down below, trying to figure out if they had run down a hallway on a lower lever or gone up. He blew a fireball into each hallway just in case, and soon he would reach their level at the top. 

‘Give it to me now. If you want the dragon dead I need the power. You want the Arkenstone. You have one second to decide: the stone for the ring, now!’ 

Bilbo held the ring out and Loki let go of him and snatched it. He held it up to inspect it. 

It was such a simple thing, but it sang to him with more power than Loki had guessed from afar. 

Bilbo lingered, but Smaug interrupted whatever he was about to say with a great fiery breath that heated the rock they were huddled behind. 

‘Go!’ Loki ordered. ‘Tell the dwarves to wait until the mountain quiets or the dragons comes out to kill them.’ 

Bilbo ran. Loki rose and looked over the wall. Smaug’s head was poking into the hallway one level below. 

Loki put on the ring.


	8. Building Alliances

_Loki put on the Ring_. 

For about three seconds, nothing happened. 

The mountain shook, but it was not the dragon’s doing. Loki stumbled, unsure how to react. The ground beneath him rumbled again, and it felt as though the whole globe of Arda groaned in protest, trying to shake him off into space. Loki fell to his knees, hands splayed on the cold rock, one finger standing out, crowned in gold. 

‘What is the meaning of this?’ Smaug growled, but uncertainty had entered his voice. 

Loki did not hear him. He stared at his finger. It did not look any different. He held his breath, trying to feel, to sense, any change in power, to hear the Ring’s whispers, but the world was silent. Then another rumble, even more violent, vibrated outwards. Loki felt fear as never before. Distantly, Smaug cursed and breathed fire. Loki dared not stand. A last rumble, but this one halted right as it reached its peak, and then just sort of wobbled out of existence. 

A tingling began in his finger, though for a moment Loki was certain it was only in his imagination. 

Then everything hit him all at once. 

His whole body was encased in power. He was off the floor, rising, luminescent. And in his mind's eye, he saw the past spread before him like an endless landscape. He could see as far as he desired. Armies uncounted, faces obscured by armour and blood, but he knew them all instinctively, from Feanor and his kin, to Morgoth and his monsters. He saw the fall of Gondolin and the breaking of Beleriand into the sea. All this before the Ring was even an idea in Sauron's mind. Then Loki saw its creation, and with it he was also forged anew, then quenched not in water, but in ice. 

He should have turned brittle and broken, but he didn't. He was free of whatever bonds Odin had placed on him. He was Jotun, and also more than he had ever been. All his powers both old and new were increased and at his fingertips. 

When his feet touched the floor again, he had no idea how much time had passed. He felt as though he had spent an eternity on every memory and new sensation. 

He looked down at himself at his simple travelling garb and laughed, waving his hand. At last he felt clean and almost like his old self- no, he felt infinitely better. He had his old armour back, though he made it more imposing by making the shoulders broader, the green darker and the gold more prominent. The cloak he made black and fireproof, and when before he would have had to perform a spell to make it fireproof against a magical flame, he now only waved his hand. It was intoxicating. Another wave and a mirror appeared in front of him. As he admired himself the sound of growling reached him. 

He dismissed his mirror and walked to the balcony that stretched out from the top landing. Down below Smaug growled and huffed. He stopped once he noticed Loki had returned and narrowed his eyes. 

'What trickery is this?'

Loki smiled serenely at the beast. 'It was not my doing. I thought it was your mere movement that shook the mountain.' 

'Cease your false flattery, vile creature. Return what you have stolen and I will let you live.'

'Most generous of you, oh great Smaug,' Loki said as he began descending the stairs, always keeping track of the dragon even when his back was turned. The Ring whispered to him of power and death, but Loki had better things to do right then. For the first time in a long while he was going to have fun. 

As he came down the last steps, standing before the heaps of gold, Smaug took a deep breath. Loki let the Ring take him into the wraith world, and what a strange view it gave. Loki jumped and rolled to the right as Smaug bellowed out a firestorm at the stairs, the flames curling in a tornado all the way to the top. Loki appeared on top of a small golden hill. 

'I am over here, snake.'

The insult enraged the dragon even further. He drew breath and Loki was just about to flee when the dragon's blasted tail whipped at him from behind. It was longer than he had guessed. He fell on his back and saw the gaping maw of Smaug just before his whole world was consumed with fire. 

But he did not die. His own powers combined with the Ring flowed around him. Ice grew like a weed, encasing him. But Smaug's fire was formidable, and Loki felt his powers being drawn out to sustain the ice. He pushed against Smaug's onslaught, and had anyone been there to witness their battle, the view would have been like the making of the world in its ferocity. 

It was Smaug who had to draw the first breath, though Loki was breathless himself. Perhaps this was not the best foe to test his new powers on without any preparation. He pulled himself up. Smaug paused, staring at him with an unnerving gaze of unmistakable desire. Loki took a step back, curious and fearful. 

'You... glitter,' Smaug murmured. 'What have you done to yourself?' 

'I have become more powerful than any creature on your Middle Earth.' 

'You shine like a jewel,' Smaug seemed to agree, then huffed in either humour or derision. 'But no more than a worthless bauble.' 

Loki's anger surged through him and took the form of ice spreading from his feet. The air turned cold and the torches lit by Smaug's previous bursts shrunk and went out. Loki's ice glowed blue while Smaug's belly burned red. Smaug dug his claws into the gold, drawing a deep breath. Loki held out a hand and a sword appeared in his hand. He wasn't going to use it, but decided he needed a claw of his own. 

High above them on the landing where Loki had sealed his fate, Bilbo, Balin and Thorin arrived to witness. 

'Come then, snake!' Loki growled, his voice as loud as the dragon's. 'Test my mettle.'

'I will not eat you after I kill you,' Smaug declared. 'You are an unnatural thing.' 

Loki attacked with a scream and Smaug let out a bellow. Loki ducked and slid down the golden hill- now an icy blue. He threw icy spears at the dragon's eyes, made with barely a thought, but he couldn't see if they hit their mark as he ran beneath the dragon's large belly. He let his ice grow beneath him and in less than a second he was pushed on top of a column of ice up to touch the vulnerable underbelly of the snake. As soon as his palm pressed against the yellow scales they turned black, and the blackness spread like mud in water. Smaug roared in pain and reared up, breaking their connection. But just before Loki jumped from his platform he spotted a greater vulnerability - a missing scale. 

He jumped and retreated from under the dragon as Smaug cursed him. Vile creature was repeated several times. Loki raised his sword and it turned into a spear, glittering as though frozen. He had to run when Smaug blasted him with more fire. Using the great pillars, he avoided using any power as he waited for his opportunity to strike. 

'Prince Loki, the tail!' 

Loki almost looked up towards the voice, but luck was with him and he managed to duck instead and Smaug's tail smashed into the pillar directly above his head. Rocks flew everywhere. Loki backed away and allowed once more the wraith world to take him. 

He hurried to a different pillar. Smaug was still grumbling about his wound. His belly had a big black bruise. 

'You have infected me,' Smaug growled. 'You are nothing but a disease.' 

'It is you who are the disease here, Smaug the terrible,' Thorin shouted. The dragon turned to the stairs and spotted the trio on top. 

'Thorin Oakenshield. I knew you had to be behind this. I shall eat you last, after I have feasted on all your company!' 

He drew a deep breath, but his power was diminished. His belly did not puff out as much. Loki made his move and put all his strength behind his throw. The spear hit its mark just as Smaug reared up to reach at the watching trio. He screamed in pain and fell back. His weight threw up massive piles of gold, and when all was still Smaug lay half buried in his treasure, dead. 

Loki stepped out of the wraith world and slowly made his way up the stairs to the King, now returned to his mountain. Loki bowed before the dwarf. 

'Prince Loki,’ Thorin greeted with a glance at the hobbit. 

'You Majesty.' 

'You have vanquished my enemy. How can I reward you?' 

'I will ask for payment, Your Majesty, but not before I have finished my work.'

'What more is to be done?'

Loki pulled forth the Arkenstone. It gleamed in his hand and Thorin snatched at it immediately. 

'The King's jewel is returned,' Loki said. 'I ask now only that you allow your humble servant to stay under your roof until such time as I find a way home.' 

'It is granted,' Thorin said, though his attention was entirely on the stone. 'You have my hospitality for as long as you desire.'

Thorin and Balin then left to show their kin their great victory. Bilbo hesitated. 

'The Ring- was it useful?'

Loki smiled at the little creature. He knew he should be grateful, at least a little. 'Yes,' he said. He lifted his hand and showed the Ring upon his finger. Bilbo's eyes went wide. 

'But how can you wear it without turning invisible?' 

'It is not some magician’s trinket to do a simple illusion with. I unlocked its full potential. It is part of me now.' 

'I see.' Bilbo nodded, turned to go, hesitated, tried to leave again, gave Loki one last look of longing, and then left to join his friends, ringless now forever. Whether he was ultimately happier, however, was anyone's guess. 

XXX

The dwarves entered their home in high spirits. Loki watched them closely and noted which were suspicious of him. Thorin related Loki’s capture of the Arkenstone with great enthusiasm. They entered to look upon the body of Smaug and were shocked at what they found. 

Nothing of Smaug's flesh remained. It appeared he had burned. His bones were white, lying in a pool of gold that had melted and solidified quickly. The effect was terrifying, a moment of death frozen by fire and gold. The dwarves were suitably impressed. Loki was just glad they had been outside when the body burned or they might have choked. 

Thorin led the way to the throne room. Loki noted the harsh architecture. The mountain was larger than the Elvenking's Halls, but Loki had yet to see anything as welcoming. Thorin stepped up to the throne and placed the Arkenstone into a perfectly cut slot. It glowed beautifully. Thorin turned and sat down on his throne, home at last. All bowed before him, Loki included. 

'My eternal thanks to you, Prince Loki,' Thorin said, sounding quite kingly. 'The dwarves of Erebor are returned.' He told his subjects to find the crown of his father, to begin the accounting of the gold, and of the weapons. He asked Loki to come close. Loki did so, bowing low before the throne. 

'Although it was fortuitous you did, I would know why you followed us.' 

'I did so at the request of the Master of Laketown. He ordered me to spy upon you, to ensure that you kept your promise.' 

'That spineless wretch,' Thorin muttered, eyes flashing in anger. 'He doubts my word!'

'He is nothing, Your Majesty, but a pitiless creature. He and his followers have sat idly by on their lake waiting for someone else to come risk their lives to rid them of the dragon and bring them the gold.' 

'They would have kept us from our home,' Thorin noted with distaste, 'if not for my promise of riches.' He thought for a moment. 'What will you tell the Master?' 

'What do you wish me to tell him?' 

Thorin thought long on his answer. ‘Tell him we went into the mountain and have not yet emerged. We must consider our position.' Thorin waved a hand and Loki bowed before withdrawing to depart. 'Leave by the secret entrance, they may be watching the gates,' Thorin called after him.

Loki did so. He stopped for a moment just outside to take stock of himself and his accomplishments, looking southwest towards the horizon. He felt the Ring pulse on his finger, urging him somewhere. Loki chuckled softly to himself. It wished to go home to its original master. Perhaps he should pay Sauron a visit? Perhaps after he was done with the peoples here, taken all he could from them, he might turn his gaze south. 

He headed off down towards Lake town with a veritable spring in his step. 

XXX

 

At the exact moment Loki put on the Ring, three others also felt the great rumbling, but they were far from Erebor. Lord Elrond felt his soul shiver, and quickly called on the powers of his ring and mind to speak with the Lady Galadriel. 

The Lady's eyes shone with fear. She was standing over her watery mirror, seeing Elrond in its depths. 

'You felt it as well,' Lord Elrond said. 'Do you know what it was? None in my household felt it save I.' 

'Only the Ringbearers felt this disturbance,' Galadriel said, holding aloft her hand with the white ring. 'Someone has claimed the One Ring, but not Sauron.' 

'Have you heard from Gandalf?' 

'No his mind is far afield.' 

Elrond thought for a long moment, knowing there was little they could do to help Gandalf. 'What manner of creature could stake such a claim?' 

'A creature not of this world.' 

'You speak of the man left in Thranduil's dungeon by the Allfather of Asgard? His powers were meant to be bound,' Elrond let his anger slip out, and he grit his teeth at the carelessness of the King of Mirkwood. 'What do you think he will do?' 

'I can not see much of him in my mind's eye,' Galadriel said, her gaze turning inward. 'But if his intentions were ever good, he will forget them quickly. The Ring will corrupt him, that much is certain.' 

Far away on the slopes of Dol Guldur, Gandalf the Grey stopped his mount and turned, gazing to the east towards the Lonely Mountain. 'What new evil is this?' he whispered to himself. A monstrous cry shook the ground, but Gandalf did not turn to heed it. The Orcs inside the keep ran for their lives, but Gandalf did not see them. He urged his horse back along the path he had come and left the Master of Dol Guldur alone, howling pitifully in lonely agony. 

XXX

Loki clad himself once again in his travelling garb and made the Ring invisible on his finger. He knew the Master would snatch at any glittering thing. He appeared so inconspicuous that the people of Lake Town barely glanced at him. The guards a the Master’s house were easily distracted. Loki saw no servants except the wile greasy one. 

‘Halt! How did you get past the guards?’ Loki waved his hand as he passed the man by, and the already dull eyes glazed over further. As Loki entered the Master’s study, his servant stared at an unseen pleasure, drooling slightly. 

The Master was very slowly reading a scroll, his large nose almost touching the parchment. He looked up when Loki entered. 

‘Ah! Back already! What have you spied?’ he asked gleefully, gesturing for Loki to sit. He called for wine, but of course was not answered. ‘Damn lazy man,’ he muttered. ‘No matter. Make your report!’ 

‘I'm afraid the news is both good and bad.’

‘Then tell the good first, I pray you, for I prefer to soften blows.’

‘Thorin and his company have defeated the dragon.’

‘Excellent! Oh, that is wondrous news. The people will rejoice. Peace of mind at last… and the bad news?’

‘He has no intention of sharing the wealth of Erebor, which is as vast as the legends say, with anyone.’

‘That greedy, two-faced, little shit,’ the Master spat. He rose and turned towards the window, which held a view of the mountain beyond the town and lake. ‘I knew it. I always knew dwarves couldn't be trusted.’ Loki made sound of commiserations. The Master spun suddenly, fixing Loki with a shrewd gaze. ‘As vast as the legends say, you say?’

‘Indeed. I presented myself before the king and offered my services, such as they were, and looked upon the mountains of gold myself.’

‘Thorin was… pleased with you?’

‘I have performed a great service to him. I believe he trusts me well enough. He believes I am here before you to buy him time while he plans his betrayal. He has no idea I intended to speak the truth.’

‘Incredible! The arrogance of dwarves! This will not stand. We will make the dwarf keep his promise.’

‘You would look magnificent leading your people on horseback, Master.’ 

‘I- well, I don't know if I should leave the- I mean, we would need to-’

‘Plan well and consider,’ Loki agreed, rising, making himself appear slightly more imposing. The Master’s eyes widened as they were spellbound. ‘But do not wait to long, or else the dwarf will summon his kin to protect his treasure. Prepare to stake your claim by force if necessary. I will continue to provide you with intelligence.’ 

‘Yes, very good…’ the Master murmured, his lips barely moving. Loki swept from the room and the house without notice. He walked among the people of the town and spread the rumour of the defeat of Smaug far and wide. Soon the news would reach the whole region and beyond. 

As he walked the streets, he realised he was being followed rather adeptly. He slipped into invisibility as he turned a corner and waited for the man to follow. It was Bard. He stopped when he realised he had lost his quarry. Loki stepped near, wondering if he should play a trick or simply walk away. 

‘I know you’ve been playing nice with both the dwarves and the Master,’ Bard said to the wind. ‘Whatever it is you’re planning, it will end badly.’ Loki almost laughed out loud at the man’s ignorant certainty. The man had spirit, he would give him that. He was handsome too - probably had beautiful children he would easily die for. Bard’s eyes searched the shadows under the houses around him, thinking Loki was merely hidden behind some old fishing nets. ‘You know nothing of this place or its politics. You should leave before it’s too late.’ 

Loki decided to take the man’s advice and left him standing alone, talking to the wind. 

It was not until Loki reached the root of the mountain again that he paused for thought. He held up his hand and the light caught the golden band. 

‘What ideas are you putting in my head?’ he asked, then shook his head at himself for talking nonsense - strange notions were floating about in his mind. They would only distract. He was having fun, he was powerful at last, beyond even his own imagining. He would play these simple people against each other, test the limits of his power, and take what might be useful to him. And maybe, just maybe, he was powerful enough to escape Thanos, for longer than the Mad Titan might expect at least. Loki’s mind spun with plans. 

Including, of course, his most important goal of all: take his revenge on the Kings who had imprisoned him.


	9. Council of Kings

News of the defeat of Smaug by the King Under the Mountain reached Thranduil within a day. He had sat uneasily on his throne for some time before that, as though his halls were threatening to collapse on him. Legolas was glad their “guest” had gone along with the dwarves, and thought him now far afield and on his way back to Asgard. Thranduil knew in his bones that Smaug had not been defeated by dwarven steel alone. He needed no prophetic dream to tell him that. 

The more peaceful amongst people expected him to send words of welcome to the returned king, so that relations between their realms could be reestablished. There would be no emissaries. He would ride out himself. He clad himself in armour that shone like silver, crowned himself in his most precious diadem and rode out with most of his army. He would have his jewels, whether Loki would give them up willingly or not. In his heart, he prayed Loki would not be so foolish as to refuse.

XXX 

‘What news from Lake-town, Prince Loki?’

‘The people there eagerly await the results of your quest,’ Loki said, bowing low as he reached the throne. After an awkward sigh, he continued: ‘With great respect to your courageous company, my news is intelligence I would share with your Majesty alone, so that you might decide later whom to share it with.’ Loki nodded deferentially to the whole assembly. His request was barely out of his mouth before several complaints were lodged, the loudest from Dwalin and Kili, both raising their voices against Loki. 

‘Silence,’ the King commanded. ‘Leave us. Now,’ he told Kili directly before the young dwarf could repeat his protest. ‘I will share the news later.’ Once they were alone, Loki stepped closer to the throne and bowed again. 

‘I'm afraid I must inform you of the Master of Lake-town’s intentions. He plans to wait no more than two days before launching an expedition on the mountain. He hopes to find you slain alongside Smaug in mutual defeat, so that he might claim the prize.’ 

‘So, he thinks we are so easily defeated? He means to walk across our corpses to steal dwarven gold!’ The King pounded his fist on the throne, his armour clanging like a bent gong, echoing Lake-town’s doom through the vast hall. Loki allowed the King to calm himself. Eventually, after several deep breaths, Thorin gave Loki a curious look. ‘This news is ill, but why could it not be shared with my whole company?’

‘There was more to say, though in my experience the whole Kingdom is seldom present when a King hears intelligence from a servant come from abroad.’ 

Thorin was slighted, but he was too proud to let his anger rule him then. That would only prove Loki’s barb true. So he nodded and said: ‘Of course, continue with your report.’ 

‘Your Majesty, I fear someone in your company has betrayed you. The people of Lake-town believe you slew the snake yourself. Strange rumours of your battle flow between them. They now await news of your final fate.’ 

‘How is this possible?’ 

‘I saw a bird fly from the mountain moments after I emerged. Someone might have made the creature carry a message.’

‘Already the greed of others is laid bare. They mean work some plan against me - perhaps even kill me and blame it on the dragon.’ 

‘It is saddening to think someone would attempt to take what is yours by every right.’ 

Thorin nodded, his mind swirling with potential treacherous brothers-in-arms. He looked askance at Loki, as though he had almost forgotten him. 

‘I hope you told them the truth, that it was you who slew the dragon. You deserve that glory.’ 

‘Your Majesty, you honour me, but I completed my task and did no more. I fear in the events to come, my deeds will be but a footnote in history, as they should be, for I am merely a visitor to your realms. I can take no great part in your fate.’ 

‘But you have taken part, and served me well. Will you continue to do so, for a while longer? I need someone close who has little ambition.’ 

‘My only ambition is my homeward journey, which can easily be postponed while I am needed, Your Majesty,’ Loki bowed low, and was dismissed. He left Thorin pondering on his mountain-carved throne. 

XXX

Loki watched the dwarves sharpen their swords and axes, repair the walls, take stock of their supplies, and count the gold. Thorin was as easily hypnotised by gold as Smaug had been, so Loki took great pains to keep his attention on his reclaimed kingdom. Loki spoke to him softly, telling him not to focus on each golden coin, but to see his vast riches as merely tools to claim power. That was all that gold was, for it was a most useless metal for anything else. Thorin’s lust for gold was strong, however, so Loki would have to tread carefully to exert his full influence. It was fascinating to watch a person go mad, pulled between two powers. 

The other dwarves were far more resistant. Loki could not wave a hand like he could with the people of Lake-town. The hobbit had a particularly well-structured mind. Loki watched the little one as he grew more lost by the hour, his job as burglar now over, and his Precious taken from him. 

Perhaps Loki should give him the Ring, just to see what it would do to a mortal mind? It might be very amusing. The look on the creature’s face when the Ring was returned to him…

What nonsense was he thinking? Give up his key to freedom? Why had such a notion ever entered his mind?

The thought continued to nag at him, however, enough to make him flee the hobbit’s company. He retreated to the hidden entrance and stepped outside into the night air. The sky was a tapestry of stars. Loki looked south instinctively, and the odd thought fell away as he was overcome with a yearning. He should go south, he thought. He would be far from silly human/dwarf politics. A place he could rest, grow strong… 

Loki held up his hand. The ring caught even the smallest light from the stars. Loki frowned at it and allowed his skin to grow cold until it turned blew. A thin layer of frost swallowed the ring. ‘There,’ Loki said. ‘There you stay.’ He turned pale again, but his right hand remained cold as the dead. 

As he lowered his hand, he spotted an encampment far below on the plains. It was out of sight of the main entrance, so the watch had missed it. But Loki could see the small torches even from the top. Despite being only pinpricks of light, Loki could identify the visitors instantly. 

XXX

Thranduil had arrived to find the mountain silent, and Lake-town in upheaval. The town, according to his scouts, bustled like an ant-hill. They made camp out of sight from both the town and the gate of Erebor. Loki was an unpredictable factor in the world now, and it made Thranduil cautious. 

No movement was seen at the gate, and the townspeople were busy among themselves, so Thranduil took council with his son. They took wine and some dried fruit in his tent. He unburdened himself of his armour, but Legolas kept his. The Princeling was becoming very serious in his youthful arrogance. 

‘Diplomacy with dwarves,’ Legolas scoffed at the idea. ‘That dwarf will give us nothing but a swing of his axe. Can we truly go to war for one set of jewels?’ 

‘They are your inheritance, Legolas,’ Thranduil reminded him. ‘War brews without us. Lake-town, pathetic though they are, will want their share, and who knows who else. Erebor can not survive without her neighbours. We need not war, we need only wait.’

‘We came all this way to wait?’ Legolas knew his father too well to buy that. ‘That is cowardly.’ 

‘Hush.’

‘You did not deny it.’ 

‘I said hush, be silent.’ 

Legolas bent his ear to listen for whatever Thranduil heard. The king moved to the entrance of the tent, pulling the curtain aside. Outside stood his guards, now inside blocks of ice. Legolas drew his sword at the sight, ready to send it off into the night after the assailant. Thranduil held him back. ‘Break them free, they are only encased,’ he whispered. He walked out, barefoot and unarmed. ‘Father,’ Legolas hissed, but Thranduil waved him silent. 

Outside the reach of the camp’s torches and the sound of talk and Legolas’ hacking, Thranduil waited. His hair was whipped up by a cold gust of wind, and he turned to face it. 

Loki emerged from behind a large bolder. He was magnificent, resplendent in green and golden armour and long hair brushing his shoulders. He wore a cloak, but did not appear to carry any weapon. 

‘The dwarves have been very hospitable,’ Thranduil remarked. Loki smiled. His cape blew on the wind. 

‘Dwarves do not know the meaning of the word,’ he said. ‘If you expect to be hosted by the Returned King, you will be disappointed.’ 

Thranduil barely took in the words - he was transfixed. Loki hummed with power, but it was a dark and evil kind. What could have changed Loki so? 

‘It can not be the Master of Lake-town who has outfitted you so?’ 

‘I would not trust the Master to tie my shoes, no.’ A glint of light caught Thranduil’s eye. Loki was speaking, forming words of warning about the King’s treasure and ambition, and to not stand in his way. The One Ring glinted mockingly from Loki’s finger. 

‘Where did you find that?’ Thranduil finally managed. 

Loki looked down at the Ring, lifting his hand to admire it. He smiled at Thranduil, but his expression faltered and silence grew between them. ‘You know it?’ Loki finally asked. He let his cloak fall over his shoulder to hide his arm. 

‘I know it, and I knew its Master.’ 

‘I am its Master now.’ 

‘No, it-’ Thranduil felt the world tilting, but it was just in his head. ‘Loki, listen to me very carefully. The One Ring answers only to Sauron. If it obeys you now it is only because you bring it closer to its Master through your actions.’ 

‘I have not begun to test my powers. We enhance each other beautifully. Have no doubt, I am its Master.’ 

‘You fool,’ Thranduil said. ‘Sauron’s life-force is linked to that Ring. It is patient. Isildur, the last known to wield it, lost it at a crucial moment because the Ring was done with him.’ 

‘This Sauron sounds very interesting, but I have more amusing things to do.’ 

‘Please, Loki. It will corrupt you.’ 

Loki smiled, then began laughing, louder and louder. ‘Oh, poor Elven King. Your healing powers could not change me for the better, and this Ring-’ he held up his hand -’can corrupt me no further than I already am.’ 

‘A lie. A good lie, Liesmith. Sauron the Deceiver would be proud. Perhaps he will make you his willing slave when you hand the Ring to him.’ 

Loki was on him in a second, his arm forming into a spear of ice. Thranduil stood firm. He saw the truth in Loki’s face before the spear stopped, a hair’s breadth from his cheek. 

‘I am no one’s.’ 

‘I pray that will remain so.’ 

Loki stepped back and his spear melted away. He looked disappointed, as a teacher might be with a student. He vanished into the night. 

Thranduil let out all the air in his lungs, feeling a burning sensation in his chest. The weapon of the enemy. The very thing they had been searching for throughout the long years of the Watchful Peace. Had it been in Erebor all this time, right under his nose? 

Thranduil had never felt so unsure since his youth. He must warn the White Council immediately. They had to retrieve the weapon, but in all likelyhood that meant going to war with Erebor. The Valar knew what tricks Loki was playing with King Thorin. 

Then there was the actual retrieval of the Ring, from Loki’s hand. When the Ring had left Isildur, his death had followed. Thranduil would rather avoid that. 

He knew where he had to go to seek help. 

Returning to Legolas and his servants, shivering and still halfway encased in ice, Thranduil ordered his stag saddled. He dressed in armour. When he exited the tent again he spoke with Legolas privately. 

‘Send word to all members of the White Council,’ he whispered. ‘Tell them the weapon of the enemy is found. It is currently in the hands of our former prisoner, a creature of unknown power. Tell them he has no known hostile intentions, and is the guest of King Thorin of Erebor. Tell them our army sits outside the walls, for now, and that I have gone to speak with the Men of the Dawn.’ 

‘You can not leave now,’ Legolas insisted. 

‘I must and will not be long gone. We can not move against Loki without further intelligence. The Men of the Dawn are a warrior race. They may have some weapon than can subdue Loki as they did before.’ 

‘Father-’

‘No more arguments. I must go now. Make no move against the mountain.’ 

Thranduil called for his stag and rode off alone into the night. 

XXX

He rode fast and far, towards the dawn. He wanted to be far away from any inhabited place, on a wide stretch of open land between the hills. Further east they rose into the Iron Hills proper, and he hoped to avoid their watch. 

His stag knew when to stop. The creature had found a good spot. Thranduil could see a good distance in all directions, and no living thing stirred. He left his mount and walked what he hoped was a good distance away. He had no idea if this would work. The sky was clear. He hoped their means of travel would work in any weather. 

He had once seen King Bor summon the bridge, so Thranduil filled his lungs and called out as he had heard the Asgardian do so long ago. 

‘Hear me Heimdal, Gatekeeper of Asgard! King Thranduil of Mirkwood would speak to your king!’ 

Thranduil waited patiently, the sound of the winds his only company. The sun was winking over the hills, warming him slightly. For a moment Thranduil felt great hesitation, wishing himself home to to his hearth, where the only light came from elven-made flames. 

The sun was blinding orange, almost halfway over the horizon, by the time the Asgardian bridge opened. There was a flash of light, a woosh of air, and King Odin stood before him. He did not seem surprised to find Thranduil alone in the wilderness. 

‘Has Loki proven too difficult to handle? You understand I will pay nothing for an unfinished job.’ 

‘You may keep your gold,’ Thranduil found himself spitting the words. ‘Loki is more than difficult. He has somehow found an object, a ring, of great power. With it, he has cast all bonds you placed on him aside, and I fear he is inciting war and spreading fear. Whatever his ultimate goal, he will plunge this whole world into chaos. But worse still is the Ring’s true master, and what he will do to Loki when he returns.’ 

Odin stared hard at Thranduil as he took in the information. He sighed suddenly and turned away, gazing towards the Iron Hills. Thranduil almost lost his temper and demanded an answer, a reaction, anything. 

‘This Master you speak of - where is he at present?’ 

‘I do not know for certain, but there are rumours his evil is rising, west and south of here, at Dol Guldur. He will surely have felt Loki claim the Ring as his life-force is bound to it. King Odin, you must understand, this evil is beyond Loki. The Ring has a mind of its own, it will betray him, corrupt him, or make him its slave. Please, send aid to capture Loki so that the Ring can be removed and destroyed.’ 

‘And then what? Will you take him in again?’ 

Thranduil had not thought that far, but he knew the answer at once. ‘I can not bring him back amongst my people, they would fear him too greatly - they did not take kindly to his presence before this mess either. I would try to heal him alone somewhere, myself, but in truth I do not think he is safe on Arda now that he has held the Ring. He must leave this world.’ 

‘I am afraid that that is impossible.’

‘What?’

‘Whatever danger you think Loki is in here, it is nothing to the danger that hunts for him out there,’ Odin looked to the sky, ‘I fear he must remain here, and you will have to remove this Ring yourselves. If you require it, you have my permission to use whatever means necessary.’ 

A long silence stretched. Odin appeared to be admiring the scenery, dull though it was. Thranduil stepped to the right, trying to catch the man’s eye, but Odin looked up and called to his gatekeeper that he was ready to go. 

‘This can not be the decision of Loki’s King and father,’ Thranduil said. ‘Or have you lost all interest in the Jotun now you have bought his exile?’ Odin did not answer, and turned his back to step into the circle that marked where the gate would take him away. 

Thranduil felt pure rage surge through him as Odin gazed at him blankly. ‘Will Loki’s brother or mother know you condemn him to corruption and death?’ 

‘Loki has been on that path for many years now, and this new trinket will not make much difference, I think.’ Those were Odin’s words of farewell as the gate opened and swallowed him up. Thranduil looked up at the darkening sky, the clouds swirling. 

‘You never had faith in him, you worthless brigand!’ He screamed to the heavens. Never had the King of Mirkwood felt such rage on behalf of someone else, someone not of his own kin. But the worst was that it was utterly impotent rage. He could not reach Odin. He could never wet his blade on the man’s fat throat and show him the swift death from an elf. 

Finding no recourse, his rage left him suddenly, and he fell to his knees. His stag, glad the commotion was finally over, trotted over to its master to offer comfort, getting down to sit and lean against the king. Thranduil pressed his face into the soft fur.

He stayed like that, dreading the moment he would have to move again. 

It was then he felt it. No other creature save an elf could have done so. It was so faint that he would not have felt it if he had not been kneeling on the ground. 

There was a beating on the earth. The beating of heavy footsteps, and lots of them. 

He focused all his energy on the sensation and traced it north. He mounted his stag immediately and rode straight in that direction. He climbed the hills, following their ridges, getting off now and then to check the sensation. After a while he realised it had stopped. It was pure luck that he found the source not long after. 

Orcs, a whole army of them, were marching on Erebor. At the moment they were encamped in the shadow of a hillside, moving in and out of a series of caves to get out of daylight. Thranduil hoped they intended to stay underground until nightfall. He turned around and rose as quickly as possible, and tried not to let himself think the terrible thought that cut through him. 

Had Loki summoned these Orcs? Could the Master of the Ring command the forces of darkness? And if he had, what did he intend to use the army for? Had the Ring’s corruption worked so swiftly? 

But another part of him, the stronger part, decided he would have faith in Loki a while longer, perhaps even until the end. 

XXX

Loki watched the dawn from his now favourite spot, outside the hidden door. 

‘Damn that elf,’ he muttered to himself. He looked down at his ring finger, as though the thing had called his attention. Loki encased it in ice and looked away towards the elvish encampment. ‘How shall I bring you low? How shall I crush your every hope and pleasure?’ 

He went back inside and searched for Thorin, finding the throne empty. The dwarves were in the armory, whispering, but Loki cared little for their pathetic plans. He allowed his steps to turn silent as he approached the treasure chamber, remaining in the shadows. 

Thorin stood on the top of a great heap of gold. The Arkenstone had been fastened by a crude chain around his neck. He gripped the stone with his hands, eyes scanning over the gold as though he planned to count every last piece himself. 

Such a weak mind, Loki thought with disgust. 

He descended to the hall floor and then climbed the golden hill. ‘Your Majesty,’ he called. 

‘Prince Loki,’ Thorin muttered. ‘Where have you been?’ 

‘Spying, your Majesty. You are besieged.’ Thorin’s head snapped up and some of the feverish colour drained from his eyes. ‘King Thranduil is encamped below, and Lake-town readies for war.’ 

‘He wants the White Jewels,’ Thorin said, a smile curling. ‘He will have to pay a dear price for them.’ 

‘You have all the power, Your Majesty, but do not forget to use it.’ 

‘What do you mean?’ 

‘This gold is the greatest treasure in all of Middle-Earth. But if you let it languish here, the power it represents will go to waste.’ 

‘Your advice is noted.’ 

‘You need not hand gold out like a charitable fool, Your Majesty. The mere promise of such riches can place many in your service.’ Loki began to walk around the king, commanding his attention. ‘The wealth of Erebor should not be a flood to her greedy neighbours. A mere trickle will make people desperate for your friendship, so they may lap at the droplets like dogs. I promise you, this treasure can make you the most powerful king in all of Middle-Earth.’ 

Thorin’s eyes were clear, filled with new greed and ambition. He looked now with a calculating gaze. 

‘But first you must defend your kingdom, Sire.’

‘Yes, you are right. Come, I must see to the armory.’ Thorin rushed out, leaving Loki smiling. This was all so easy. A war between dwarves, men and elves should be quite the sight to see. 

The dwarves prepared themselves. Loki left them to it, bored with the dark looks thrown his way. He went outside and went down into the empty town of Dale, finding a good vantage point to see both Lake-town and Thranduil’s camp. He stayed there until the sun set, trying to picture Thranduil’s frustrated face as he tried to guess Loki’s next move. 

Perhaps he should just leave these creatures to their war, let them destroy each other. 

A whisper came to him on the wind, as though in longing for him, and he spun around to search for its source. He found the half-destroyed tower empty. He went down into the town, searching the streets for any sign of life. There was a distinct dark presence, and it was not the remnants of Smaug’s destruction. Evil was lurking nearby. Loki glanced at the Ring and, after a moment's hesitation, allowed the ice around it to melt.

The moment it was free, Loki was dragged into the wraith world. He stumbled, almost falling to his knees. 

‘The One.’ The whisper came from a wraith, a creature unlike any Loki had seen. Nine of them stood before him. 

‘Who are you?’ Loki asked, steadying himself with a hand against a broken wall. 

‘Nazgúl,’ came the hoarse reply from the middle one.

‘I am not familiar with that word. By what else are you known?’ 

‘The Nine.’ 

‘How enlightening, if I lacked the ability to count. Tell me what you want.’ 

‘To serve the One.’ 

Loki held up his hand. The Ring shone with power, an evil-looking script glowing like fire around it. The Nine seemed to swell with its presence, breathing in haggard breaths as though sucking life from death. 

‘Who are you?’ Loki asked again, but he knew the answer. The Ring told him, showing him their history and corruption. Kings and Lords, now reduced to creatures between life and death, soulless, possessed with a single purpose- to serve. 

‘Then hear me, as the Master of the One... I command you to leave this place. Go- go back to your resting place until I have need of you.’ 

The Nazgúl appeared to glance at each other in confusion, but then the middle one bowed, the others following. They departed like gusts of wind, and the moment they were out of sight Loki grabbed the Ring and tried to pull it from his finger. 

It would not budge. Panic gripped him. He pulled hard enough to rip his finger clear off, but it was as stone. The wraith world swirled around him. There was a voice on the wind, he was certain of it, but it spoke a language he could not make clear until the Ring echoed the words back at him- “I see you.” 

‘Out, let me out!’ Loki cried. 

At once the world stilled, the city of Dale deserted and normal, save for Loki’s panting breath. Loki calmed himself. He looked at the Ring, his hand appearing normal otherwise. He encased it in ice quickly, going so far as to turn blue. He grimaced at the colour, but steeled himself against his disgust. Thranduil’s words came back to him. ‘I am no one’s slave,’ he thought.


	10. Plans

The Elven King’s tent was full, but it was missing the King himself. Legolas sat in his father’s chair. Gandalf was seated in front of him to his right, Bard of Lake-town was to the left. Each had a small side table with wine goblets, but none of them were drinking. 

‘I have been in brief contact with Lord Elrond and the Lady Galadriel,’ Gandalf spoke softly. ‘They are anxious about this Loki character, and his effect on King Thorin. If only I could speak with him.’ 

‘The dwarves are bathing in their gold,’ Legolas said with disgust. ‘Thorin is an impotent king. He has no intention of showering these lands with prosperity. As for Loki, all he does is play games. He will run away at the first sign of actual trouble. We should strike soon, and swiftly.’ 

‘War should be the last resort,’ Bard said. He had come to the Elven camp in secret, to warn the elves of the “army” the Master was amassing. Untrained, ill-equipped fishermen and farmers were taking their tools as weapons. Whatever the elves were planning, the people of Lake-town would only get in the way. ‘The Master intends to attack Erebor within a day or two.’ 

‘He is a fool,’ Gandalf huffed. ‘You must try and speak to your people. Surely the Master is not well liked?’ 

‘He is all most people know, and their anger towards the dwarves blinds them. If I speak against him, he will lock me away, or worse, hurt my family.’ 

‘Surely there must be some way to reason with him?’ 

‘Why are we discussing Lake-Town when it is Loki and the dwarves that are the source of all our troubles?’ Legolas asked. 

In that moment the curtains of the tent were pulled apart and Thranduil strode inside. All the occupants rose swiftly. Thranduil looked windswept and out of breath. 

‘Father, what’s the matter?’ Legolas moved and retrieved a glass of water while Thranduil fell into his chair. He drank deeply while the others stood staring, waiting for the King to speak. 

‘The Orcs are coming,’ Thranduil said at last. ‘Orcs of Gundabad. They will be here in two days, if they keep to the shadows.’ 

‘Loki has summoned them, with the weapon of Sauron,’ Legolas said with certainty. . 

‘They must have been preparing for longer than Loki has been in Middle-Earth,’ Gandalf reasoned. ‘They awoke when their true Master called them to arms.’ 

‘But they come now because of him,’ Legolas argued. 

‘If this Loki truly has power over Orcs, you must strike at him now before they arrive,’ Bard said, alarmed at the turn of events. 

‘We can not know who leads them. Erebor would be their target regardless. Its strategic position-’

‘Their target doesn’t matter. We must cut the head off the snake before their arrive.’ Legolas argued. 

‘Enough.’ Thranduil’s voice brought silence. All eyes turned to the King, who was rubbing his forehead against a burgeoning headache. ‘Our enemy is old, we know him well enough.’

‘Loki-’

‘Is under the One Ring’s influence.’ 

‘You can not believe-’

‘You have spoken to the Men of the Dawn?’ Gandalf cut off Legolas’ triade, gazing at Thranduil curiously. Thranduil straightened, gazing at Gandalf blankly. 

‘King Odin of Asgard will send no aid. Our “agreement” is null and void as far as I’m concerned. He did not send Loki here to be healed.’ He sighed, reaching for the water, then taking the wine instead. 

‘For what other purpose did they leave him here?’ Bard asked. 

‘Who are you?’ 

‘Forgive me, Your Majesty,’ Bard gave a bow. ‘I am Bard of Lake-town. I’ve come to speak about the Master’s plans for an army.’ Thranduil nodded, then looked to Gandalf as he answered. 

‘Loki is not King Odin’s son by birth. He is of another race, from an icy world they fear. When this fact became inconvenient, Loki was exiled.’ 

‘And that is the full tale?’ Gandalf asked. 

‘It is the tale that Loki would tell, which is all that matters now. This betrayal, combined with self-loathing at his own existence, drives him. The Ring no doubt gives him comfort, power, control, all things he craves. It is the Ring, however, who seeks _our_ destruction. Loki’s hatred is directed at himself, and perhaps me, personally, for my attempts to heal him. But he has no interest in destroying Middle-Earth, or ruling it. Of that I am certain.’ 

‘How can you be so certain?’ Bard asked. 

‘I am.’ 

Silence met this statement. Eventually Gandalf sighed, retaking his seat. 

‘It is Thorin we must reach. He must be freed from Loki’s influence.’ 

‘I must get back to town and warn the people,’ Bard said. ‘We should evacuate, flee south. Whatever army the Master thinks to lead, he can’t be stupid enough to send it against Orcs.’ 

‘We will handle the Orcs,’ Thranduil agreed. ‘Go, tell them the enemy numbers in the thousands. They must flee or die.’ 

Bard bowed and left the tent in a hurry. He rode fast, arriving to find Lake-town in deep preparation to “take what’s owed them”. Lake-town was always full of activity, but that day no one was fishing or mending nets, instead they were sharpening tools and linking crude chainmail. 

Bard went home first, telling his children to pack what they could and, if he did not return, head south. 

They argued, but he left them with promises to do as he had said. He then headed for the Master’s house. 

‘I have vital information for the Master,’ he told the guards. ‘He will wish to hear it. Or I can begin shouting it from the steps if he prefers.’ It would be better if the Master told the people to flee, Bard reasoned. He still doubted his own influence with the people. 

Eventually, after much grumbling, the snake-like servant Alfrid came out and escorted him, two guards following. The house was not the grand affair Bard had expected. There was unmistakable wealth, but it felt like a sickly place. Shadows stretched out from every corner, dust hung like curtains from the rafters, and the furniture smelled of mold. Only the gold still shimmered like new, every candelabra polished to perfection. 

They group entered the Master’s office, finding him seated smugly behind his desk. He was enjoying the sight of Bard escorted by guards. 

‘Your Grace. This man apparently has “information.”’ Alfrid came round the desk, whispering something into the Master’s ear that made him laugh, then hovered at the Master’s shoulder as they both stared Bard down. 

‘Orcs of Gundabad are marching on Erebor. They number in the thousands and will no doubt pillage the town. We must flee.’ 

The Master’s fuzzy eyebrows rose in surprise, then he started hiccupping laughter, his whole belly bouncing. Alfrid giggled. Bard took a step forward without thinking, finding spears crossed in front of him instantly. ‘It is the truth, King Thranduil himself has seen then!’ 

‘Oh, the elf has seen them!’ The Master declared. ‘Oh, well in that case, I shall throw you in the dungeon for conspiring with the enemy!’ 

‘What?’ Bard recoiled, bristling when the guards each grabbed one of his arms. ‘You’re insane!’ 

‘Take him away. I think I shall schedule your trial for… three months hence?’ 

Alfrid laughed uproariously at this. ‘Does that work for you, Bard?’ he asked. They laughed together again. 

‘The people will die if you do nothing.’ 

‘The people will get what they deserve,’ the Master said. ‘The gold of Erebor, or death in glory.’ The Master waved his hand and the guards began to pull Bard away, but he resisted. One of them pressed the tip of his spear to Bard’s neck. Bard grimaced at the pain, thinking of his children. 

The other guard suddenly cried out in pain. Everyone turned to look on in shock as a long sword stuck out of his chest. The guard spat blood, slowly crumpling to the floor, sliding off the sword. Loki stood in his place, gazing at the blade in contemplation. 

Bard met his eyes, seeing madness there, and then Loki grinned. He raised the sword and lunged, nipping at Bard’s shoulder as he ducked. The sword pierced the other guard straight through. Loki withdrew the sword and the second guard lay dead. 

‘What- what’s the meaning of this?’ the Master spluttered. 

‘Your prisoner has killed two guards,’ Loki said calmly. It was only now that Bard saw he was much changed. His armour was strange, but impressive, almost Elvish in its design. Loki’s hair was a little wild, but it was nothing compared to the reddish madness in his eyes. 

‘What?’ the Master said, sounding child-like in his confusion. 

‘He should be executed immediately.’ 

Bard met Loki’s eyes without fear. ‘Why are you doing this?’ 

‘An assassination attempt,’ Loki said, breaking eye contact to look at the Master, who was finally beginning to understand Loki’s plan. 

‘Oh, oh yes! Yes, he tried to kill me! The hatred is in his eyes! He wishes to murder me!’ The Master’s shrill voice caused Bard to wince, looking away. He did not see the servant approaching with a dagger raised. 

The Master screamed when he was stabbed right where his neck met his shoulder. He shifted in his seat to look at his servant. ‘Alfrid?’ he managed to gurgle before toppling out of his chair, twitching as life left him slowly. 

‘Seems he succeeded,’ Alfrid said with a sneer. He looked up at Loki with a grin. 

Bard looked at Loki as well, seeing nothing but mild curiosity in his eyes as he gazed down on the dying Master.

‘Do something,’ Bard told him. Loki looked at him with a surprised twitch. He then turned on his heel and walked to the door. 

‘Wait!’ Alfrid cried. ‘You have to help me! We’ll take this town together!’ He hurried round the desk, running after Loki, but Bard stopped him, grabbing by his collar and hauling him off his feet. 

‘Murderer,’ Bard spat in face. 

‘That’s a very serious accusation,’ Alfrid said with a sneer. ‘Guards! Guards! Help, the Master’s been murdered!’ 

Bard cursed and let go, grabbing a spear from one of the dead guards and turning to face the door. Five guards entered, and Bard sighed when he realises he could do little to save himself. 

‘Arrest him! He has killed our beloved Master and two guards!’ 

They dragged him from the room, Alfrid leading the march. Outside people were working, organizing into their so-called army. Alfrid’s shrill voice called them all to attention. 

‘The Master has been assassinated! Bard has killed him!’ 

Bard took a deep breath as the onslaught of shocked cried deafened him. 

XXX

Loki could see the square from the watch tower. The guard had left in a hurry at Alfrid’s proclamation. The throng of people was becoming unruly quickly. It seemed Bard was more popular than he thought, for roughly half the cried of protest were to spare Bard’s life and have the Master’s remains dumped in the lake. 

Alfrid was not the man to keep control of such a crowd, but Loki had no intention of helping him. The pure chaos was delicious. People were soon clashing with the guards, and then some guards started fighting alongside the people, storming the Master’s house. Loki lost track of the star players. Bard was a sneaky one. 

The Master’s body was brought out, and a fight broke out over it. They almost pulled it apart before it drowned in the throng of people. A fitting end indeed. 

Loki breathed in the sounds of curses and shrieks as people took to arms against the guards. Alfrid was surrounded by a ring of the last loyal guards, but none of them were particularly inclined to give their life for the pathetic creature. 

A white light drew Loki’s attention. It began to glow in the centre of the square, growing in intensity until people reared back, shielding their eyes. A cleared space was made, where a wizard appeared. Loki heard several people shout the name “Gandalf the Grey,” and “It’s the wizard, it’s him!” 

Gandalf lowered his staff and the light dimmed. 

‘Where is the Master?’ he demanded in a booming voice. Several people stepped aside, and by Gandalf’s grimace of disgust it was clear the Master’s body was not doing well. The wizard sighed and looked over the people. 

‘Where is Bard?’ A murmur shot through the crowd, some screaming “Murderer!”, but Gandalf quieted them with a stern look. Bard came forward, pushing through the crowd until he was at Gandalf’s side. ‘Tell them what you came to tell them,’ the wizard encouraged with a nod. 

After a moment’s hesitation, Bard’s voice rose loud and clear. 

‘There is an army of Orcs marching on Erebor.’ People gasped in horror. ‘They no doubt mean to take the mountain and kill all those who stand in their way. They will pillage our town for supplies. Fortunately, King Thranduil’s army is ready to meet them. The elves know we have no means of defence of our own. I have met with the King, and he agrees we should flee as far south as possible while they meet the onslaught.’ 

People seemed unsure how to react. Terror at the prospect of leaving their homes for the wilderness? Gratitude towards the elves for meeting a foe that did not directly threaten them? Or annoyance that their chance at the gold under the Mountain was ruined? 

‘Put all thoughts of gold from your minds,’ Bard urged. ‘This is a fight we have no business being in. We flee, we wait, then we return to whatever’s left, if the gods see fit to let King Thranduil be victorious.’ People began nodding, and several began to leave the square to start packing their things. Bard had won the crowd, despite the shaky odds. Loki was impressed. 

The Orcs were an interesting development. Loki saw himself suddenly in glorious, shining armour, his crown like fire, leading an endless army. He shook the image from himself. It was unsettling, not desirable, yet the heat in his blood told him differently. 

‘Loki of Asgard!’ Gandalf called out. It seemed while Loki was lost in thoughts and visions, Bard and Gandalf had been conversing. ‘Show yourself! I would know who plays tricks on these innocent people.’ 

Loki descended the watch tower in the wraith world. He passed by people, liking their small squeaks of fear as he touched them. When he appeared in front of Gandalf and Bard people shied away from him so forcibly he would hear several people fall into the water along the edges of the crowd. He appeared in his fullest Asgardian armour, helmet included. 

‘Innocent is a relative term, wizard,’ he said. He gestured to the Master’s body, lying with several ugly bootprints on him, his guts spilled, his mouth a gaping horror. ‘Some would say this corrupt slime was barely a man at all.’ 

‘Why do the politics of Lake-town interest a Prince of Asgard?’ Gandalf asked. He leaned heavily on his staff, though Loki suspected that was for show. ‘What do you want with these people?’ 

‘These people?’ Loki glanced around him as if to judge each and every fisherman and fishmonger present. ‘They are nothing. My goals are beyond them. they encompass all of Middle-Earth.’ As he heard the words, Loki felt sick to the stomach, as though he would vomit any second, but he did not let it show. His fingers felt thick and rubbery, and his mouth was not his own. But at the same time the words bolstered him, filled him with energy and power. He was smug in his certainty. ‘When I am finished, there will be no more fighting between men, dwarves and elves.’ The words felt eerily familiar, but, unlike the last time, they did not feel hollow. They were not rehearsed. A fire started in his gut, as though he suffered from something as common as heartburn. 

‘You carry the weapon of the enemy, and you speak his words,’ Gandalf said with great sadness. ‘It is Sauron the Deceiver who wishes to cover these lands in darkness. What does Loki of Asgard wish?’ 

‘I-’ Loki smiled, masking his discomfort. ‘No, you will play no part in this.’ He turned to the crowd, addressing them with a kind voice. ‘People of Middle-Earth, you need not fear Sauron.’ He could see they did not believe him. ‘I will not rule with darkness. I do not wield his dark flame-’ Despite the words, he saw the flame clearly in his mind, a ring of fire, circling closer, about to engulf him. ‘I will not rule with fire-You need not fear his fire…’

‘Take the Ring off,’ Gandalf begged, but Loki shouted over him to the crowd.

‘It was I who slayed Smaug the Terrible! I put out his flame! I come to free you from the likes of him, the greed of dwarves and fickleness of elves.’ 

‘So much for living in harmony,’ Bard muttered, but Loki barely heard him. 

‘Loki, remove the Ring, reclaim yourself!’ Gandalf’s cries fell on deaf ears. 

‘My rule will be merciful,’ Loki declared. He saw only fear in their eyes. They did not believe him. ‘I do not bring fire, I will not burn…’ his voice faded. He felt the Ring on his finger grow so tight he was afraid his finger would be cut off. He encased it in Jotun Ice, and let the cold grow. His skin turned blue and the people grew even more afraid. Their terror enraged him. ‘Fear not, Smaug is dead, you will not burn!’ The wooden boards under his feet crystallized instantly, spreading outwards not unlike a wild fire. People ran from the square, slipping on the icy surface. They pushed and scrambled away like sheep terrified of the oncoming slaughter. Loki almost laughed at their panic. In their wake was left a wintery scene.

‘Prince Loki,’ Gandalf called. His staff was glowing, in readiness to fight. Bard had taken a discarded sword to hand. ‘I beg you, take off the Ring.’ 

Loki looked at him and laughed at his fear. ‘No.’ He disappeared into the wraith world, his ice fading away. His skin was still blue, except for his ring finger, which was tinged red. 

XXX

Gandalf turned immediately and headed back towards the bridge. Bard hurried alongside him. ‘I must warn King Thranduil. Loki’s corruption has come quicker than we thought. You must lead your people.’ They parted ways as Bard headed for his home, hoping his children has stayed hidden inside during the commotion. 

Gandalf returned to the King’s camp to give an account.


	11. The Battle of Erebor

During the reign of Smaug the Terrible, Erebor was no place for other living things. The air had certainly not cleared since his departure, and the dwarves' moods did nothing to help matters. They whispered amongst themselves, mostly about the evil that was taking over their king. Not the fever of gold, but the sweet praise of the creature Loki. 

'The King is not himself. We must act now.' 

'He is our king! We should prepare for arms, as he has instructed.'

'I do not speak against the king, I speak against the evil that has taken control of him.'

'Loki defeated Smaug, gave him the Arkenstone-'

'For his own purposes only, of which we know nothing about. He has no business being here, let alone giving advice to our king.'

'What exactly do you propose?'

'We act now.'

Their argument was interrupted by the door smashing open with great force - at least considering the small creature behind it. Bilbo panted from exertion, leaning on the frame. The dwarves had sprung to their feet at his entrance. 

‘Orcs,’ Bilbo got out. ‘And Loki… he’s….’ 

‘He’s in league with them, I knew it! He has brought them to our door,’ Dwalin cursed, thumbing the table with his fist. 

‘No, he-’ Bilbo shook his head. ‘He’s something else…And I think he killed the Master of Lake-town.’

XXX

Loki climbed the mountain in the wraith world, unable to summon the will to encase the Ring in ice. He did not want the dwarves to mark his coming and going, so he climbed to the hidden entrance, noting the new fortifications to the main gate were almost finished. Just as he reached the rocky platform where the hidden door was located, he felt an incredible heat at his back, as though the sun had just risen in the west. 

He turned, seeing the source of the heat: a strange vision on the horizon. There was a red flame growing, covering the land in ash as it stretched towards him like a rising tide. The Ring began to glow. Loki felt its heat. He reached to pull it off, but hesitated. This was intimidation, surely? This was a ploy. He raised his head and stared at the horizon. 

For a moment he thought the heat would fry him, but his gaze did not waiver. 

As quickly as it had appeared, it faded. Loki felt his strength returning. He encased the Ring in ice and pushed the wraith world away. With a sigh he entered the mountain, keen to see the king and tell him about the Orc threat. What mischief he would make of these people.

He found the throne room empty, which was not surprising given Thorin's propensity to wander his hills of gold at all hours of the day and night. As he made his way through the geometrically carved halls he felt a quiet creep up on him. Not even a mouse could move in these vast caverns without a sound, but Loki heard nothing. 

He entered a long hallway that he spied ended at the bottom of a heap of gold. He could see its shimmering light at the end of the tunnel, but although the torches were clearly lit, no movement could be heard within. 

As he approached the end, he almost entertained letting them corner him. How would they do it, he wondered, and where had they hid Thorin in order to perpetrate their betrayal?

Finally, a sound like a giant groaning reverberated through the hallway, and everything went dark. A large boulder had blocked the entrance to the treasure chamber. Caught unawares, Loki spun to face all but two of the dwarves. They were fully armed, and stood five abreast at the other end of the hallway. Thorin himself stood in front, wearing a clear expression, unfortunately. It seemed dwarvish minds were even more stubborn than Loki had supposed. 

Loki opened his mouth, about to cut the pathetic creatures down to their size, when a deep boom was heard, and then felt- Loki swayed as the whole hallway shook. He caught Thorin's eye, and saw a smug smile spread across the dwarf's face just as the roof gave out, burying him inside the mountain. 

XXX

Thorin stared at the newly made stone wall mere inches from his face. He turned to Dwalin and raised an eyebrow. 

'Cut it a little close, don't you think?'

'You're the one who wanted to watch him get buried.' Dwalin shrugged and turned to the rest of the dwarves, ordering some to go see to Fili and Kili, who had been on the other side of the corridor and released the first boulder. 

Balin approached the solid rock and put a listening horn to it. The dwarf had a most sensitive ear, and all present held their breath as he listened. After a few tense seconds he nodded, and all sighed in relief. They began to disperse, clapping each other on the back as they celebrated the defeat of the interloper. 

'Bilbo,' Thorin called, halting the hobbit's escape. 

'Yes, your Majesty?' 

Thorin smiled and waited until they were left alone in the dim hall. 

'I owe you far more than your share of the treasure.'

'I'm a hobbit, your Majesty, I'll already have trouble spending the treasure I'm due.' 

'I owe you my life, my sanity. If you had not followed Prince Loki, if you had not broken through my blindness, I dare not think what would have become of us all. Thank you.' 

'Well, I’m just glad he’s gone, your Majesty,' Bilbo said with a little bow. 'Hope that will hold him,' he said with a nod to the cave in. 

'Surely no creature that needs to draw breath can survive that?' 

'I don't know, but he did not seem...' Bilbo frowned heavily in thought. 'He did not seem like a living thing down in Lake-town.' 

'Well, we know now that we can outsmart him. So should he somehow crawl out of that, we will be ready. Come, let us go prepare.' 

Thorin returned to his throne, and without Prince Loki bending to his ear, the company thought he finally looked like the true King of Erebor. 

'What is the first order of business?' Thorin asked his company. 

'Should we not send word to the Iron Hills and seek help against the Orc army?'

'Indeed, we must do so.' 

'Should we not speak with King Thranduil and coordinate our defensive line?' 

'I will not speak with that elf,' Thorin barked, surprising the onlookers with his sudden rage. At the confused stares Thorin raised his eyebrows and looked at each dwarf carefully. 'A broken clock is right at least twice a day,' he explained. 'Loki may have had his own plans and muddled my mind, but now I am free of him I can still see what truths he used to his advantage. The greedy elves came to our doors long before word of the Orc army reached us. Their goal has not changed. They mean to take not only their precious white jewels, but all of Erebor. As for the men of the lake, think of them as rats on a sinking ship. If we open our gates now, even an inch, they will rush here instead of fleeing into the wild. No, we prepare for battle against ALL our enemies. We will wait here for aid, and let our enemies cut each other down before we deal with them.' 

Silence met this great speech. Bilbo despaired. Either Loki's influence lingered, or Smaug's treasure had simply won the battle for the King's soul. 

Bilbo looked to Balin, the wisest of the dwarves, and saw the same despair. Dwalin pulled himself up to his full height. 

'We can not sit on our hands and watch the battle. That is cowardly!' 

The king's face hardened. 

XXX 

Thranduil walked through his camp, observing the preparations for battle. His son walked a little behind, inspecting things in that eager way of his. Legolas was clearly thirsty for combat, but Thranduil was only half-seeing his soldiers. 

‘The wizard approaches,’ Legolas said. ‘He appears to be in haste.’ 

Gandalf rode up the line of tents, jumping from his mount with the speed of a young man. 

‘I must speak with your Majesty at once, alone.’ Thranduil nodded to his son and left the rest of the inspection to him as he led Gandalf to his tent. 

‘What has happened?’ 

Gandalf did not mince words. ‘The Master of Lake-town is dead. Loki was involved. I fear he is beyond our help.’ 

Thranduil turned away, pouring himself a goblet of wine, sipping slowly. ‘Why deliver this news in private?’ he asked. 

‘I wondered of your connection to Prince Loki. You seemed concerned with him. I would have the full truth of it.’ 

‘You worry I am compromised?’ 

‘I merely wish to know what you think he might do when the Orcs arrive. Will he attempt to lead them?’ 

‘No- No, I don’t think he would. He does not seem the soldier.’ 

‘The men of Lake-town are moving out as we speak. Loki snuck away, no doubt to give the news to King Thorin. I do not like these games he plays.’ Gandalf sounded very old then, and when Thranduil face him the wizard had sunk down in a chair, his head in his hand, the other barely grasping his staff. 

‘You fear Loki will give the Ring to Sauron.’ 

‘I fear the unknown, as do all creatures,’ Gandalf sighed. He looked up with a pleading expression. ‘Tell me, what do you see in Loki? Why does the King of Mirkwood expend so much time and energy on a foreign creature?’ 

‘The King of Mirkwood will expend his energy on whatever he wishes,’ Thranduil bristled, then forced himself to remain calm. He would achieve nothing with anger. He stared into his goblet, as a soothsayer might read tea leaves, trying to understand his own mind. ‘Loki is a powerful mage, with far more potential than I dare imagine. His soul is wounded, perhaps beyond my help, but I can not resist the urge to try to save him. To allow the enemy to steal such a powerful ally would be folly.’ 

‘That is your desire? Why do you attempt to save Loki without tangible reward?’ 

‘Careful Mithrandi, I have little patience for insults in my own tent, back-handed ones even less so.’ Gandalf held up a placating hand, giving a nod of apology. ‘If it is to King Odin and his gold you allude, think not of him. He has abandoned Loki completely. I would not take a copper coin from him if I were a starving beggar.’

‘He raised Loki as a son, and yet offers no aid to prevent his destruction.’ Gandalf gave another sigh, shaking his head. 

‘We can do nothing about Loki until after the battle. From what I know of him, I doubt he will even participate.’ 

‘His plans are not his own, I fear. His words in Lake-town were strange, stilted... as though he were pulling teeth. And yet he seemed without mercy.’ Gandalf’s voice faded away as Thranduil tried to see Loki in front of King Odin, as a child, not knowing the monster lurking within. 

If he was without mercy now, Thranduil thought, all the more reason to show him what mercy is. 

‘I will leave you, until tomorrow.’ Thranduil barely noticed Gandalf’s departure. He felt a bit sick, like he had felt before his very first battle as a young elf. 

XXX

Loki felt dead. He wasn’t, he thought, for he could still think, and he had no belief that thoughts could occur after death, at least not without the Halls of Valhalla welcoming him - or whatever Jotun equivalent there was. 

He was cold. Colder than he had ever been, but it wasn’t painful at all. He opened his eyes, surprised he could, and saw nothing. That was when he remembered what had happened. Those little bastards. 

Light reflected through the ice that encased him, blue ice illuminated by a fiery light. The Ring was like an ember on his finger, coaxing itself to life, and him with it. For a moment, it looked like he was bathing in the stars. 

The ice was strange, it was not completely solid - not where he touched it. He could not feel where the ice ended and his skin began. This was how the Jotun hibernated, he realised with shock. He was encased like a fish in a bowl, able to move within his element, but no further. 

Panic gripped him. Would he remain here forever, to be freed only when the world broke apart?

No, he would not be defeated by a bunch of hard-headed dwarves. He searched the edges of his world, touching the stone. The ice’s magic was stronger than any natural structure to be able to create a pocket under the rocks. Would the pocket collapse if the ice retreated? It felt solid - he pushed against it slightly. The light from the Ring danced across the little cave. He allowed the ice to retract into him, feeling his skin accept it all over. It was a thrilling experience.

The little cave was big enough to stand in, and about four by four feet. His only light was the Ring, but it was a sad companion now compared to its emboldening embrace from earlier. Loki frowned at it. 

‘A lot of use you are now,’ he muttered. ‘No secrets to show me, tricks up your sleeve?’ 

No answer, Loki read the glowing letters, but was no wiser for it. He huffed and looked around himself, feeling the rock, summoning his own magic. He could move much with spells, but he had no idea how much was between him and a structurally safe halls. Perhaps spells weren’t ideal. 

What was stronger than rock? Simple, water of course. Loki stared at his blue hand against the grey mountain, falling into the Jotun magic easily. Ice spread across the rock, into the cracks, growing like tendrils. Loki closed his eyes and felt the ice as a part of him, enhancing the experience with his own magic. The feeling was intoxicating. He was the ice, and the ice was wrapped around the mountain. He felt the cavern around him, and knew exactly how far he needed to go.

He encased himself and shot spears of ice into the rock in front of him. As he walked the ice created the space for him, caving in immediately behind him. He finally emerged into the intact hallway, turning to watch the final cave-in with great satisfaction. He doubted any regular Jotun could manipulate the ice with such dexterity. For a moment, Loki felt something like peace in his soul, though he did not acknowledge this consciously. 

He entered the wraith world at once and hurried through the mountain to the King’s hall, finding it empty. Curious, he snuck to the entrance hall, finding all the dwarves on top of their makeshift new wall, watching something on the other side. 

The world was muffled when he was in the wraith state, so he did not hear what it was they were watching. He crept up, being careful not to touch them. He noted many of them had their heads bowed, and only the King himself was staring straight out. 

Peering over the edge, Loki’s heart lept into his throat. 

Battle raged outside Erebor, and it was breathtaking. 

The full might of the Elvenking’s force met an Orkish horde far larger than Loki had imagined. The elves moves elegantly even against brutes. Even in the innumerable mass of bodies, Loki could easily make out the Elvenking himself, near the mountain, as he executed his foes, again and again, his white hair streaked with blood. 

How long had he been in the ice? 

XXX 

Thranduil knew the cowardly dwarves were observing the slaughter. The Orcs fought fiercely, commanded by Azog from a safe distance, but that would not save him, Thranduil vowed. The Orc army had come expecting to take Erebor practically empty, and instead they were caught by the elven army as they streamed into the city of Dale and through vale outside the Gates of Erebor. 

Azog was no fool, however. He had divided his army, allowing the rest to crest the hill after the battle had begun, and spear the Elvenking’s forces in two. Half of Thranduil’s army was being pushed up against the Gates, while the other fought on the walls of Dale and inside the city, defending it from within and without. 

Gandalf the Grey led that half, so Thranduil hoped his men would easily overpower the monstrous Orcs in the narrow streets. As for his own half, he cursed the dwarves for bricking up the Gates, and wished he had never followed Loki out of Mirkwood. The White Jewels seemed a small and petty grievance now. 

Thranduil gasped as an Orc blade grazed his arm, drawing blood. His King’s Guard quickly ushered him behind a defensive live, right up against the large boulders that stood between them and safety, with the dwarves looking down on them, probably laughing. 

Thranduil gripped his arm with a wince, trying to take stock of the piteous situation. A sound came from above, but it was not laughter. The dwarves were crying out with joy. Thranduil looked up and saw a line beginning to form on the same crest Azog had appeared on. It seemed dwarves would be their salvation after all. 

‘Reform the line!’ Thranduil ordered. His men hurried to obey, and the Orcs were too distracted by the arrival of their new foe to give them much trouble. Azog was ordering his large beasts to face the new army, giving relief to the walls of Dale. 

‘Charge!’ Thranduil ordered, just as the Iron Hill dwarves began their descent. His men easily pushed against the Orcs, at first. The mindless dregs would not be so easily distracted, and Thranduil’s forces did not press the enemy as much as was desired. Thranduil pushed harder, the cries of his King’s Guard falling on deaf ears. Another cut, this time against his neck, but not deep, just bloody. He cursed as his men surrounded him once more. ‘Push!’ he cried, leaving the safety of their circle and demanding they fight harder. The Orc line was moving, and they were beginning to feel the crush between the two forces. This could be done, but Thranduil was bleeding still, and his vision blurred. He could not hear his guards, but one voice from high above cut through the clangs of battle. 

‘You fool! You have merely exchanged my influence for Smaug’s treasure! Join this fight, or your family line will be cursed with cowardice for eternity. I shall see to it myself!’

Thranduil felt a blow to his head, the butt of some weapon and stumbled with a cry, hands going deep into the muddy grounds - red mud. 

He was sure a sword would come down at any moment, ending his life in defence of a thankless kingdom, when all the world suddenly became muffled. A strange wind whipped his hair, and the world blurred. A hand on his shoulder made him look up. It was Loki, in full armour, including a terrifying horned helmet. His golden armour glowed so fiercely it was almost red. Thranduil looked around and realised with horror they were in the wraith world. 

‘Come with me,’ Loki said, offering his hand. Thranduil stared at it, then into Loki’s eyes. They shone with the same red glow. His skin was his Jotun self, though he did not seem aware of it. 

‘No,’ Thranduil said, pushing himself up with no assistance. Loki looked surprised. 

‘You are injured. You will bleed to death if you remain.’ 

‘Release me from this world this instant.’ 

Loki’s face hardened, his eyes becoming incandescent. 

‘Very well, die for these fools, if that is your desire!’ Thranduil’s heart wept at the anger in Loki’s voice, and as Loki held up his hand with the Ring, Thranduil spoke without thought. 

‘I desire your soul, Prince Loki, for myself alone. Do not let him have it, I beg you!’ 

Loki paused in surprise, though it was difficult to read his expression with so much magic swirling around him, and his eyes like molten rock. Thranduil felt light-headed and suddenly remembered his wound, pressing a hand to his throat and feeling it become drenched in blood. 

‘Take my hand!’ Loki demanded. Thranduil shook his head, staring at the offered hand in disgust. The Ring looked as though it might melt Loki’s blue skin. Thranduil would die before he was aided by its darkness. Loki let out an oath of frustration. ‘Fine, you are more stubborn than a dwarf!’ The Ring was swallowed by an icy band, and Thranduil’s world returned, along with the deafening sound of battle. Orcs nearby noticed them at once and Thranduil panicked when he saw his sword sinking in the mud. Before he could dive for it, Loki had grabbed him around the waist and pulled him close. 

A sound like the crack of thunder was heard, and then the cries of Orcs in pain. Thranduil wasn’t sure if he could believe his eyes. Outwards from their embrace ice had spread like oil across the surface of water, and under every Orc a spear of ice had shot upwards, killing them almost instantly. The elves, however, had all been spared, and stood precariously on the slippery ice in total shock. Loki’s magic had reached about thirty feet in every direction, but those outside the ice were backing away in panic at the sight. The Orc lines were falling into complete disarray. They thought it some new elvish trick. 

For a moment Thranduil could hear nothing but Loki’s laboured breathing in his ear. He felt very weak and realised he was still bleeding very profusely. Loki pressed a hand to his would and he groaned in pain. 

‘I have you,’ Loki whispered. Thranduil’s vision darkened. The last he heard was Loki shouting something about getting off the wall before Loki tore the whole thing down.


End file.
